


A Spade of Truth

by Michelle_A_Emerlind



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Anal Sex, Angel!Merle, Angst, Baby!Judith, Because of Course He Is Too, Because of course he is, Body Exploration, Buckets of Emotion, Child!Judith, Daryl is an Angel, Demon!Maggie, Devil!Carol, Do You Get to Come Back From This?, Euthanasia, Explicit Non-Sexual Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Fate Brought Us Here, Feather Play, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, God!Michonne, Happy Ending for All!, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I swear, Like GAG Boys Stop It, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Character Suicide/Drug/Alcohol Abuse (Off Screen), Naive!Angel Daryl, Oh god, Oral Sex, Rick is a Demon, Rimming, Self Tail Insertion, Sex Kitten!Daryl, Sex Kitten!Rick, Sexy Wings, Solo, Tail Insertion, Tail Play, Trickster!Rick, Unashamed Flirtations, Versatile Sexual Positions, Versatile!Rickyl, Voyeurism, WTF am I writing?, but still happy ending, dark themes, dirty dirty sex, handjobs, love making, soul mates, virgin!Daryl, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 114,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4898878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick is a demon who prefers to spend his time poking holes in walls and creating general chaos for anyone he encounters. Meanwhile, Daryl is an angel that brings healing and light to those in need. Through unusual circumstances, they find themselves working together to raise a little girl named Judith. Can the angel and the demon find a way to coexist? What’s up with how good Daryl looks? And can Rick open himself up again and ignore everything that has happened in his past to allow himself to love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book I: The Baddest

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Michelle_A_Emerlind: A Spade of Truth - Russian translation - Острие Истины](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191556) by [SilverRaindemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRaindemon/pseuds/SilverRaindemon)



> Thank you all for choosing to read this fic! A couple of notes: 
> 
> **SCHEDULE** : This fic will be posted on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays. The entire fic is complete at 38 chapters and an epilogue (I am just putting final editing and betaing suggestions into the chapters). 
> 
> **BETAS** : Thank you to the lovely [Skarlatha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/works), as always, and to the awesome and amazing [MermaidSheenaz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidSheenaz) for their help in making this fic a reality! 
> 
> **TAGS** : Please also note that I am slow-releasing tags. New tags will be added as chapters progress and always before or on the chapter with the content in question. If there are specific tags that you may be triggered by, I would be happy to give you the full list if you email me at MichelleAEmerlind@outlook.com. I will also tell you up-front that although this fic does get heavier as it goes and although there is much angst, there is still a happy ending for all and there will NOT be major character death (Rick or Daryl). 
> 
> **PLAYLIST** : So, since this is a long fic and I have really gotten into it, I have also made a playlist! The playlist is 19 songs long and each song corresponds to a chapter. Those chapters that have songs will have an end note with links to the song. In addition, [gwisoon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gwisoon) has created an 8-tracks playlist for the songs from me, my betas, and readers! Each track has a quote from the story attached to it and it's hella awesome. Go here to see: [8-Tracks A Spade of Truth Album](http://8tracks.com/mitsukeru/a-spade-of-truth)

“There’s a baby,” Carol says, filing her nails into little points as she talks and studiously ignoring Rick’s every move to get her to look at him. “This vile thing.” He picks up her bowl of eyeballs and starts squishing each one between his fingers to destroy them. “Judith.” He pulls a thread loose on her lovely fur-lined throne. “She’s going to be the key to everything.” Scuffs the floor in front of her with his boot while Carol examines her nail bed with single-pointed focus. “She’s the one that will bring God to her knees.” Starts picking apart her bone wind chimes. “She’ll create a force that Michonne can’t even influence. But she’s young.” Rick jumps into the air, glides on the surface of his wings and starts scraping crevices into the stalactites of the throne room ceiling, whipping his tail in the process. “But she’s import--” He digs a little too deep into one and it goes careening down through the air to slam right at Carol’s feet. “RICK!” she bellows and finally looks at him, fury and firepits in her eyes. She grabs the stalactite and hurls it, hits him right between his beautifully polished horns. He squeaks and falls to the floor.

Carol rolls her eyes, hard. “ _Demons_ ,” she hisses and turns to sit on her throne that is just as pointed and prickly as her nails.

Rick makes a grumbling sound, but rushes forward to sit at her feet. “What, oh my beautiful Satan, should I be doing for her humble majesty?”

Carol sighs and slides her glance down to him. She frowns and taps her nails on the side of her throne where the decorative bone is sticking out. “I’m going to send my very best demon,” Carol says, “to watch over this girl. To teach her evil as she grows. She’ll decide when she’s older which path she will follow. And if she chooses us, all Hell will reign loose on Earth. And that is a prospect I would most like to see come to fruition.”

Rick’s eyes twinkle and he twitches his tail. “Is it me? Am I your best demon? Tell me it’s me.”

Carol rolls her eyes. “Who do you think it is? Maggie? Of course it’s you. Of all the seven Hells, _you_ ,” she reaches forward and grabs his chin, smiling at him, “are the most conniving and the most vengeful. You are the most insane and the most sadistic. The most prideful and the most, _most_ , annoying. So I’m sending you. But, a warning. You’ll have your work cut out for you. I am sure that God is sending one of her own Judith’s way, as well. It’s not going to be a simple walk in the park. It will be a grand battle, as old as time itself.” Carol grins and stares at the wall opposite her where freshly flayed souls are hanging. “Evil vs. good. Demon vs. angel--”

Rick laughs and spins, flapping his wings as he goes. “ _Angel_? Please.” He stands right in between Carol and the dripping skins so she’s forced to look at him. He preens. “As if that’s going to be any match for me.”

***

Rick stands in front of the mirror in a shitty third floor apartment in the hub of the city, turning this way and that as he examines his figure through the grime that’s layered on the glass like geological layers. Behind him in a corner, the body of Gareth Terma is getting stiff and cold and Rick will have to remove it soon before it begins to smell. He hopes that Carol is pleased with his offering of the new soul that was shot down to Hell like a bullet from a machine gun. He also hopes he can offer her many more in the coming days.

He turns to his side again. Through the grime, his skin shines with just the tiniest bit of a red tinge. He flaps his wings, all graceful leather with dark bone structures running through them. He flips his tail, thin and versatile, but oh so strong. And of course he shakes his horns, long and graceful, protruding from the front of his skull in graceful curving sweeps, standing easily a foot above his hair.

“You _sexy_ thing,” he tells the mirror and runs his hand over his own chest. “Mmmm.” He bites his lip. Maybe he should take some personal time, appreciate each dip and curve and…

No. But this won’t do. He has a mission and he doesn’t want to scare the little kid. Well, not right away, at any rate. And besides, depending on the situation, he might have to let a human or two see him and this just isn’t the outfit for subtlety, now is it? He frowns and then, with one incredibly violent move, shakes himself. Red dust flies off of his skin and envelops him in a sea of smoke. When it clears, Rick grins to himself.

 _Nice_. He studies the mirror again. His red-tinted skin has been replaced with a nice tan and the wings on his back and thin, flippy tail have disappeared. Instead, he stands there looking _human_ and _average_ : brown curly hair, blue eyes, slightly on the skinny side, nice jawline...but oh, this won’t do, either. It’s so boring. Rick snaps his fingers and watches as his hair grows darker into black curls, his skin lightens and his eyes go ice blue. “Always liked emo,” he says to himself and lets the clothes he’s wearing morph into skinny jeans with bunches at the ankle, black shiny boots with red soles, and a tight black shirt rolled at the elbows with button-snaps. He flips his wrist to accessorize with thick leather bracelets and plugs in his ears and then winks at himself, batting his long eyelashes. “ _Beautiful_ ,” he tells his reflection. “Don’t you think so?” He turns and addresses Gareth’s body, but it remains stubbornly silent. “Hmm,” Rick says, “cold bastard.”

It’s been a long time since Rick looked human, he thinks. Long ago, in another life, he even was one. But he’d long ago made his choice to let Carol turn him into his beautiful demon self and there’s no point in reminiscing about his past now. So he straightens his shirt and reaches up into his hair to fluff up the curls. His fingers bump across the two little horn buds he’s left lodged in his hair and he grins to himself, teeth pearly white and sharp. “Now _this_ is chic.”

With a click of his heels, he leaves the apartment. On the third floor, there’s a drug dealer haggling with his latest client. Rick snaps his fingers and turns all his crack into sugar. On the second floor, there’s a couple planning a robbery and he whistles and blows away their good luck. And on the ground floor there’s a smooth jackass getting lucky with a prostitute, who Rick quickly gives herpes.

He loves his life. So very, very much.

The apartment is not that far from the good side of town and as such, it’s within perfect walking distance to Summerset Park, which just so happens to the be outdoor destination of little Judith and her mother, Lori, every afternoon at about three. Rick skips his way there and watches carefully as he approaches the park for any sign of the godawful walking-beam-of-light angel that God has sent Judith’s way.

Rick has no idea what the angel looks like, but in his experience, angels aren’t really that good at blending in. They tend to wear white, silver or gold, they tend to be crying in happiness or praying, and they tend to look like the stick that’s perpetually up their ass has fused itself to their spinal cords. Rick’s not really that much of a fan.

He pauses at the edge of the park, under a willow tree and scans. Mothers and their children roam around with the occasional father tagging behind. Puppies and kittens frolic and butterflies swim through the air like this is a Disney movie. Opposite of the park, the traffic moves steadily, a taxi honking at a sedan, a motorcycle zipping through traffic. Lori, for her part, pushes the stroller with Judith through the park, the shade of the trees rippling in the breeze.

Rick keeps his beady eyes on them, waiting for someone to approach. It will be easy to spot the angel, he thinks. Judith will be able to see whoever it is and Rick will be able to, too. But Lori won’t. She’ll see neither of them for Judith’s whole entire life, not unless they want her to. She won’t be privy to the ways that Rick will make Judith his little monster, won’t be witness to the angel’s incredible failure and shame to turn her daughter into some moral fuddy-duddy.

So all Rick has to do is wait until someone walks up to Judith and Lori doesn’t react. But no one does. No one at all. Rick frowns as he waits. Angels are punctual bastards. Surely this one isn’t _late_. Surely Hell doesn’t have the upper hand. But as the afternoon draws on and Lori starts her second round through the park, nothing happens.

Whatever. Rick isn’t good at patience.

He stalks from the willow tree and makes a beeline for the new mother and her daughter. He falls into step next to Lori easily, who, of course, doesn’t react. Judith glances up at him and bounces the toy she’s holding against her stomach. “Hey, Little Monster,” Rick coos at her, bending down and talking as he walks. “My name is Rick.” He reaches out and watches as Judith curls her hand around his fingers. Lori doesn’t even blink. “I’m your personal demon, yes I am. We’re going to have so much fun, aren’t we?”

Judith giggles and Lori leans down to talk to her. They pause next to a park bench and Lori whips out a blanket. She lets Judith lay on the blanket in the grass and sits next to her daughter. Rick grins evilly.

“Crawling age, are you?” he asks. Judith blinks up at him with her baby blues and Rick snaps his fingers. Lori looks away. “Come on,” Rick says and starts walking backwards, motioning with his hands for Judith to follow him. She giggles and crawls forward, bumping over the grass and the blanket, heading in a beeline for a golden retriever puppy.

Rick stops just shy of the puppy, who’s sporting a purple collar with the name DAISY on the tag. Rick cackles. “Pull the tail,” he tells Judith. Judith sits up and stares at the puppy, then puts her hand in her mouth. “Pull the tail,” he tells Judith again. Judith looks at him and gurgles. “Pull the tail,” he says a third time and this time, Judith reaches out and grabs the puppy’s tail and gives it a firm _yank_.

The puppy yips and jerks around. Rick watches as it goes for a bite, but he pushes it back with a shove. Judith’s eyes well up. “Oh!” Rick says, “What a _bad_ dog, biting little Judy!” He stares at the puppy, who looks confused and apologetic. “Oh well,” Rick says and flips his wrist, planting ideas in the dog’s mind, “we’ll get you a _real_ Hellhound someday.”

Rick watches as the puppy walks to the edge of the park and then straight into traffic. He grins at the squeal of brakes. “Bad doggie!” He says to Judith who giggles. “Bad, bad dog.”

“JUDITH!” Lori suddenly shrieks and jumps up from her spot, rushing to grab the crawling baby. “What has gotten into you?”

“Is she okay?” a passing man asks, all long hair and grunge. Rick rolls his eyes. Biker trash.

“Yes,” Lori says, holding her close. “I don’t know why she did that. She’s not usually a crawler.” Lori coos and cuddles Judith, taking her back to the stroller and thanking the man, who promptly heads off in the opposite direction.

Rick grins and stands up, brushing invisible dust off his knees. Today was such a good start. The little tyke definitely has potential. He kicks up his heels and heads back to his apartment, walking alongside the road. As he does, something darts out in front of him--a golden blur with a purple collar. “Daisy!” he hears a young girl call from further in the park. “Where’d you go?”

Rick frowns and looks around him, doing a quick sweep of the area. He narrows his eyes, waiting for something to pop out at him, but nothing does. The golden retriever barks and starts playing fetch, the moms and their kids keep chattering away, and the butterflies keep flitting about, disgustingly colorful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG!  
> [""Heaven Knows" by The Pretty Reckless](https://www.youtube.com/watch?t=4&v=rHBxJCq99jA)


	2. Love Thyself

Rick is bored. Being bored is really the bane of a demon’s existence, considering that there’s so much out there to do in the world. He sighs and thinks about whether he should go bother the drug dealer on his floor who’s now sporting two black eyes and a broken ribcage due to customer complaint. But he decides that’s so yesterday, so he just keeps on staring up at the bumpy ceiling of his apartment.

He’s cleaned both the grime off the glass and the body from the corner, so the apartment is now spic-and-span and liveable, which means that Rick can see his reflection from where he’s lounging on the bed. Damn he’s sexy. He tilts his head so that he can fully examine his curls. Hmm. Springy. He pulls his head back and stretches his neck out taut. Niiiicceeeeeeeee. He lifts his hips. Mmmmmm. He rolls his chest. Yeeeeeesssssss.

Ah, fuck it. What does he have to do anyway until the afternoon when Lori and Judith take their stroll? He shakes himself out, going from his hidden human appearance to his full on demon glory. And then he lays there naked on the bed and touches himself.

He closes his eyes and imagines the deep, dirty things that demons do to each other--the rolling and the fucking and the sucking and the bucking. He arches his head back and his horns knock hollowly against the headboard. His wings twitch as they’re captured under his back and his tail swishes anxiously to join in. Rick grins and lets it.

His tail curls around the nightstand’s handle and pulls open the drawer, drawing out a bottle of lube. He grabs it with his right hand and pops the bottle while fondling himself with his left and then watches, gasping, as he pours lube onto the tip of his tail. It’s triangle in fashion like all demon tails, but with soft edges instead of hard and really, when you come down to it, it’s the absolute perfect appendage for what Rick wants to do to himself.

He watches in the mirror as his own tail knocks at his opening while his hand speeds up its work on his long length. “Such a naughty, naughty boy,” he says to the mirror and blue demonic eyes wink excitedly back at him. He pushes his tail inside, squeezing his muscles just right to create pressure and a good solid sting. “Oh, baby,” he says, “ _harder_.” He obliges himself--pushing his tail in and out, rubbing it against his prostate deep inside. He strokes himself firmly and uses his other hand to fondle his balls as things get tighter and deeper and harder and _ready_.

“I’m going to come,” he says to his reflection. “Yeah, you do it, bitch. See what you made yourself do? Oh, _hell_.” He bites his lip as he arches up on the bed, holding on for just a few more seconds. “Not yet, not yet. Mmmm….” He bites his lip again. “Tell yourself you’re sexy. _Oh, baby_.” He makes eye contact with the mirror. “Yes, yes, _yes_!” He lets himself go, pumping for all he’s worth and watches as he twitches and then finishes, thick white strings coating his stomach and getting all over everything. He grins and then laughs to himself, flopping down bonelessly. He really is the only one that can make himself finish like that. He smiles. After all, he _is_ the sexiest beast in all the seven circles.

***

Rick saunters up to the park for day two and finds Lori pushing the stroller same as the day before, no angel in sight. He hmms to himself, but follows her and Judith around, making faces at the baby as they go. Judith giggles and Lori leans over to coo at her daughter, naively thinking it’s herself that’s making Judith so happy. They arrive at a sandbox this time and Lori sits Judith down with another girl--baby soft blonde hair with a pink bow attached to her head. Rick sits cross-legged beside them.

Judith plays with the sand and grabs a truck that’s put out for the kids to play with. She knocks it against the ground and pushes it around, moving it as best as she can with her chaotic baby limbs. The other baby spies the toy and gets jealous, makes a reach for it and tears it from Judith’s hands. Her eyes tear up and Rick watches her wave her baby fist. He grins. He is always a man of opportunity.

“Punch her,” he tells Judith and swings his fist through the air in mockery of the action. “She stole your toy. Punch that girl.” Judith’s frown turns into a full on angry grimace and she beats at the air with her closed fist. “That’s my girl!” Rick says, cackling. “That’s my little monster. Punch the bitch. Do it.”

Judith puts a scowl on her face and crawls over to the other girl, snatching the truck away. The other girl cries and reaches for the truck again, but Judith wields it like it’s her personal avenging hammer and smacks the girl in the face with the full force of plastic fury. The girl goes down and Rick sees blood.

Soon the parents are shrieking and cowering over their infants. The blonde girl’s mom is speaking at a mile a minute, holding her daughter’s face between her hands and saying, “It’s broken, it’s broken, I think her nose is broken,” over and over again. Judith, for her part, is sitting down with her truck, happily moving the wheels through the sand.

“ _Judith_ ,” Lori says and takes the truck from her. “No, no. We do not _hit_.” Judith starts crying and the blonde girl starts crying harder and the parents start arguing and all in all, Rick is about as happy as a clam.

That is until the father of the blond girl cuts through all the shrieking to say, “Amanda! Look, she’s fine.” Fine? That girl was not fine. Rick swings his head with a glare to see the blond girl smiling, a trickle of blood still caked to her lip, but otherwise no worse for the wear. “Kids, huh?” the man tells Lori and scoops up his daughter. “Just try to be more careful next time.”

Lori nods fiercely. “Of course. I’m so sorry about your daughter. I don’t know what’s gotten into Judith. These last two days she’s been a terror.”

The man shrugs. “Terrible twos coming early, I guess.” He smiles and he and his wife head off out of the park. Rick pouts and looks around for the offending force which just has to be the angel. But he finds nothing except fluttering insects, bouncing dogs, the shriek of children and the far off hum of a motorcycle.

***

The days tick by the same. Rick spends his life cooped up in his apartment except for the afternoon stroll out to the park. He encourages Judith to hit other children, to spit on adults, and to pull the tails of all of God’s creatures, big and small. He walks in front of the stroller and snaps his fingers, makes strangers fall on their faces or makes their dogs get loose off their leashes. Judith laughs at the antics and Rick laughs at her laughing.

She gets older, bigger. The fall colors fade into the pastels of winter and snow starts to sprinkle the ground. Judith arrives with big, fluffy coats and hats with puffballs on top of them. She stumbles around the park causing mayhem and ruckus and Rick follows her, bad luck coursing behind him like a river.

The angel doesn’t show itself, but Rick knows it’s there. The woman with the skinned knee finds a twenty dollar bill. The girl who almost falls into the freezing lake suddenly catches her footing just in time. The man who is caught ogling his son’s babysitter makes a save as he gives his wife a dozen roses. In short, all of Rick’s hard work is for naught. It’s sickening.

And it’s predictable. Which means the days are getting more and more boring by the second. Rick paces in his apartment while the wood creaks, the wallpaper uninteresting and expected. His reflection no longer excites him quite like it used to. Judith’s cackles are no longer as endearing, the faces of a man who lost his wallet no longer worthy of Rick’s full attention.

He needs change.

But all he has are four walls of a shitty apartment and a park that he visits for two hours everyday. This day is no different than the countless others that have come before. This time, Lori is wearing her pink sweater and Rick makes a gagging motion at himself for being able to pick out Lori’s closet by now. Judith is wearing pink, too--one of her big coats and brown booties that are fit for the cool weather.

Rick walks beside them as he always does, silent and frowning. He’s pretty sure that his grumpiness is contagious and that Judith is catching it, because she’s fussy, too. It’s particularly easy today to get Judith to tell her mom _no_ and throw a walnut in her face and it’s especially simple to get her to smack her mother when she gets in trouble.

Lori gives her a swat on the hand for misbehaving and Judith wails like a banshee, but her cries of pain don’t excite Rick. In fact, none of Judith’s little sounds of agitation send a thrill through him anymore like the sounds of others tend to do. The rest of the city can cry and shout and bemoan, but not his little monster. She deserves the world. So as they pass a ten-year-old with a lollipop, Rick swipes it as easy as taking candy from a kid and hands it to Judith, who gurgles in happiness at her personal demon.

Judith sucks on the lolly, Lori ignores it, and Rick walks. Same old, same old. He sighs and casts his gaze about for the angel as he tends to do everyday on autopilot. He finds himself hoping that this will be the day that he or she pops out of nowhere and engages Rick in a evil-vs-good fight to the death. After all everything is so very, very dull and Rick is getting, well...lonely.

***

Rick sifts through his options, but finds he has none. His usual circle is full of other demons--Maggie mostly, even though that does him more harm than good. But he’s damn sure that Carol isn’t going to like him flying down to Hell for a social visit and every demon that he knows on Earth is deep into their assignments of creating conflict in the Middle East or working on political campaigning. So Rick sucks up his pride--all million and a half gallons of it--and knocks on the drug dealer’s door.

His name is Randall and he’s a young little pissant who tries to make everyone happy all at once and only succeeds in making the world suspicious and pissed at him. Rick holds up a six-pack and offers free beer if he doesn’t ask any questions, so he’s let into Randall’s one-bedroom, roach-infested digs and shown to the T.V. and the some city vs. some city ballgame.

Randall tries to make conversation and Rick wants to throw himself off a bridge. But this is what he came for, isn’t it? Company that’s older than a year-and-a-half and who can mostly control his drool. So Rick sighs and concedes.

Randall pulls out a little baggie filled with white substance and proceeds to make a line on his coffee table. Rick rolls his eyes and wonders if the guy is a walking pharmacy. “Want some?” Randall asks. “Got some killer E, too.”

Rick shakes his head. “Not my vice.”

Randall shrugs and goes back to fixing his drugs just how he likes them. “What is?” he asks casually.

Rick scoffs. “Got seven. Which one you want?”

But that one seems to soar right over Randall’s head or maybe he didn’t hear Rick over the loud snorting, but either way, the conversation turns south. “Did I ever tell you about that job I had down in San Antonio?” Randall asks, as if they’re buds who spend Sunday evenings together. Rick grunts and Randall must take that as a no. “So, this guy. Really macho gang type, yeah? Asked me for this god awful amount of stuff. Said he was going to give me half a mil, can you believe that? So I show up--” Rick’s eyes go a little glassy. Is this what humans have to deal with everyday? “--and there’s this car, right? This unmarked car and this guy gets out with these sunglasses, just like in the movies, dude.” Rick knows just how many bones are in a man’s body. He wonders which one he could break to make it hurt the worst. “And he says to me, I shit you not, ‘your buddy betrayed you,’ like fucking SVU, you know? Or is that Law and Order? Are they the same shit?” Rick imagines his head on a spike. “And then I’m like ddddddduuuuudddde. This guy is a cop, right? So I start running like a cheetah. Like zoooooommm,” Randall holds out his hand and smacks it into the second one. “So fast.” The slowest poison known to man, Rick recites to himself, is the-- “And this guy just chases me and I leap a fence.” Maybe instead of sugar, he’ll turn everything into antifreeze this time. “--and fall right into this sack of garbage, dumpster pile of restaurant leftovers. But you know the funniest shit? Guy stopped chasing me.”

Randall nods over at Rick and Rick refuses to respond except to hold his gaze evenly. Randall puts one finger over his right nostril and snorts with the other to clear his nose. Rick snaps his fingers and turns him into a pigeon.

The pigeon, for a moment, is incredibly shocked and makes a squeaking kind of sound like it’s trying to speak. Rick thinks it’s annoying, so he grabs it by the wing and throws it out the window, latching the lock after that's done. The pigeon makes a half-hearted attempt to fly, but, upon shitting itself in fear, clings to the ledge like a kid to his mother’s skirts.

Rick studies the apartment around him and wonders if he should move. He decides the place is a dump and he does not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG!  
> ["Uptown Funk" by Mark Ronson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ya2U8XN_Zw)
> 
> How could I NOT put this song on this chapter? Also, fun fact, this fic was named "Hot Damn" for most of it's life! It has only recently had a name change to fit the tone of the whole story.


	3. My Brimstone Pal

On a particularly warm day for winter when the latest snow has melted into a gray slush that looks just the perfect level of unappetizing and the trees droop down the way Rick likes, he follows Lori home.

He needs change desperately. Needs a new pace, a new challenge. The drug dealer is gone, finally having learned to fly, and all the others in Rick’s building have become boring, blase. And he’s quickly learning that the only thing that will put a smile on his lips is the evil cackle in Judith’s voice, so he decides maybe spending more time with his Hell-sent charge wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Lori places Judith in a white SUV after their time at the park and buckles her in soundly before folding the stroller and placing it in the back. While she’s distracted, Rick sneaks into the backseat of the SUV and crosses his eyes, sticking his tongue out at Judith. She laughs and Rick proceeds to make even more exaggerated faces as Lori climbs into the driver’s side.

The SUV is clean, pristinely dusted and inspected and the white seats make Rick want to throw up all over them. Lori turns easily onto the road because a nice car behind her waved her in and it’s so sickeningly perfect that Rick proceeds to make every light Lori approaches red.

They travel to a nice, quiet home at the edge of a suburb with perfectly clipped hedges and regulation mowed lawns. Rick wonders if the local Neighborhood Watch has any other demons he could hang out with, because someone sold their soul for this bullshit.

The house itself is decorated with a refined and quiet style and when Lori pulls into the garage, there’s no evidence of any other vehicles. But, of course, Rick knows that she’s a single mom. She never comes to the park attached with anyone, no bored husband or boyfriend scuffing his feet along behind. She doesn’t have a wedding band, never talks about her love life, even to the girls that she’s started to become friends with as they stroll around the swept clean park paths. She reeks of suburban, but even more than that, she reeks of solitude.

Lori gets out and grabs Judith before walking into the house. Rick follows them cautiously--being outside in the open is one thing, but in a house is completely different. Lori won’t ever see him, but she could physically bump into him in an indoor setting, so he watches where he steps very carefully. Inside, the house is like a picture out of a Home and Garden magazine. The kitchen is sparkling clean, the living room devoid of dust, the nursery perfectly put up. There are three bedrooms if you count the nursery, Lori’s room and the folded up and creaseless guest room. Rick is nauseous just thinking about it.

He wonders what Lori does for a living with as nice of a house as this until he spends some time snooping through the mail and finds the childcare payments--some sap named Shane doling out half his wages.

Lori places Judith in the playpen and goes into the kitchen to do bills or whatever the hell it is that humans spend their time doing. Rick leans against the wall and stares down at Judith as she picks up a chewed and ratty purple elephant. “Well, kiddo,” he says and looks around the living room, “guess I might stay here for awhile. You’ve got to be better company than that crack rat.” He tilts his head and reads down the spine of books on the living room bookshelf, finds absolutely nothing of interest. “I need to give you some proper training,” Rick says and rubs his hands. “There’s a lot of things we can do, I’m sure...chemicals under the sink, butcher’s knives in the drawers.” He wanders over and looks outside to the neighbor’s lawn where a tabby cat is crawling through the grass. “Could poison the neighbor’s cat. Maybe have you catch a mouse and torture it. Hopefully you have lots of playdates, too. We could give all the other children nightmares for life.”

He laughs and walks over, bends into the playpen and pinches her cheek. Judith giggles at him and holds out her arms, as wide as the final circle of Hell. “UP!” she says and Rick blinks, jerking back on his heels. Judith whines and holds her hands up higher. “ _UP_ ,” she says again, as if Rick hadn’t heard her the first time.

He frowns. He’s never actually held the thing before. Demons don’t hold babies. And besides, what would Lori think if she saw her daughter suspended in midair, being cuddled by an invisible force that was spelling out Judith’s fate in big fiery letters? No, Rick is not a holder.

But Judith’s arms are wide and her fingers are sticky and grabby and she’s starting to whine in unhappiness. “I’ll be there in a minute, sweetie,” Lori calls from the kitchen, but that does nothing to pacify Judith’s arms stretched out like evil tentacles. Minutes tick by and Lori doesn’t come and Rick starts to hate her for being negligent.

Slowly, with the utmost care, Rick reaches into the playpen and removes Judith, holding her at arms length. Judith giggles and tries to bite at his bracelet. Rick studies her and she starts to cackle at him and then she smacks her hand down over his wrist _hard_ and Rick cackles back. “There’s my little monster,” he says and pulls her forward, cuddling her to his chest. “There’s my little girl.”

Judith laughs again and tries to pinch his nose. Rick grins. Yes, he thinks, this. This is less boring.

****

Lori lays Judith down in the crib and shuts the lights off in the nursery, leaving the door only just cracked open. The blanket of night is quiet out here away from the city hub, the only sound the soft clicking of Judith’s mobile as it turns round and round. Rick shakes himself out, confident that the shadows will hide his true form. He thinks for a moment about going to the guest bed to sleep somewhere more comfortable, but now that he’s made the decision to be a full-time guardian demon, the thought of sleeping in a room that doesn’t have Judith seems just plain wrong.

So he takes a minute to get accustomed to his surroundings and then he flies to the ceiling, flipping himself upside down. He lets his clawed feet grab for a good purchase just above Judith’s crib and he dangles below, fluffing his wings out before wrapping both them and his tail around himself for comfort and security. He ducks his head down under his wings until he’s just another bat hanging from the ceiling--the only visible part of him his horns as they poke down like gazelle antlers.

Rick snuggles in and closes his eyes. He starts to drift off, but after a minute, he hears a soft gurgling. He peaks out from under his wing to see Judith below him, grunting as she tries to stand and grab ahold of one of his horns. She’s on her tippy-toes, one little grubby hand using the railing for balance as she tries to reach. His horn is still a good foot from her, so there’s no way that she’s going to get it, but damn is she’s trying. Rick furrows his brow and watches her. He tries to outlast her, thinking surely she’ll get tired, but she gets more determined and more unhappy as the seconds tick by.

Rick frowns to himself and lowers his body down further, stretching his legs out to accommodate the new distance. With the horn in mind, Judith grabs ahold of it. Rick watches her carefully to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself on the pointed end, but she seems fine. She touches it, bangs it a minute which causes Rick’s head to echo violently, and then, to his dismay, bites it. After satisfactorily exploring it with all of her five senses, Judith finally flops down onto her back. _Good_ , Rick thinks to himself, _sleep_.

He starts to pull himself up to curl away from her, but before he can, her little hand is around his horn again. He frowns and glances down to find the girl sleeping on her side, her little fist curled around the tip of his horn for comfort. He swallows and bats down the weird nauseous fluffy feeling in his stomach. Judith gurgles in her sleep and starts making soft little baby snores.

Rick arranges himself as best as he can, snuggling into his new position and being careful not to jostle his own head. He lets a self-satisfied sigh go and hums to himself as he falls asleep.


	4. The Competition

A light flips on, the soft ambient nursery bulb filtering in through the thin parts of Rick’s wings. Rick stirs slightly, but doesn’t lift his head out of his cocoon--not until a hand reaches in and pokes him hard in the forehead, pushing him back so much that it causes him to start swaying. He squeaks and opens his eyes, flapping his wings out of his face and staring straight into...the most gorgeous deep blue eyes that he’s ever seen. They sparkle and roll like the waves of the ocean and Rick thinks this is what God must have meant when she parted the firmament and separated the land from the seas. He blinks.

“Good morning,” the man says, “get out.”

Rick furrows his brow and drops from the ceiling like a rock, flipping and catching himself as he lands on the carpet. He stands straight and as he does, his wings evaporate and his normal, emo attire flashes into place. “Who are you?” he asks and glares at the man. He’s wearing beat up jeans and a cut off shirt, a leather vest over his shoulders. His hair is brunette and long and something in Rick says that he’s seen the guy before. There’s a ring of gold lightly highlighting his hair and the back of his vest has wing imprints. Son of a bitch. Rick frowns. “Oh, you think you’re very clever, do you?” Rick asks. “With those wings and that halo?”

The man quirks one side of his mouth up. “Clever enough for you not to notice me.”

Rick glares. “ _Angels_ ,” he spits and then crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you want? I was _sleeping_.”

“Yes,” the angel says, “next to Judith. I would like it if you didn’t do that.”

Rick scoffs. “She’s not _yours_.”

“She’s not yours, either.”

“Yes, she is. She’s my little monster.”

“No, she’s a child of God. Not a monster.”

“Same difference,” Rick says with a flip of his wrist and then twirls into his demon appearance again. He goes back to climbing on the wall.

“What are you doing?” the angel asks.

“Sleeping,” Rick says and settles himself into a nice perch.

“But I told you to get out.”

“I’m not listening.”

“I’ll make you.”

“Psh,” Rick says and flaps his wings twice before wrapping them around himself again. What’s the angel going to do? Each one of them is overly nice, which severely limits the amount of tactics they have in---the bastard pokes him again. Rick squeaks. “Stop that,” he tells the dick. The angel rears back and slams his index finger into Rick’s eye. Rick roars and flips right side up, beating his wings so that he can hover and glare down at the offending creature.

The creature in question takes a flying leap and Rick watches as the shadows around him melt out into great, grand wings of the softest, powdery white, each feather outlined individually in soft, peaceful silver. The ring in his hair dings and rises above his head, slowly spinning to hover over him by about three inches, tilted downward to the right. He straightens his spine and fucking _glows_ and Rick hates him.

The angel crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow. “Crawl out that window or I will _make_ you,” he says.

Rick ignores his wing envy and assesses his options. But, really, when he comes down to it, there’s only one proper choice. He’s a demon. He does not bow to _divine_ threats. So he tilts his chin in perfect defiance and says with the utmost sincerity, “No.”

The angel looks taken aback, as if this particular situation has never happened to him before. Rick will give it to him, the angel does look impressive. His wings tower over Rick’s, making Rick’s pretty leather look like Dollar General plastic. His jawline is strong, his biceps big, his aura...glowy. Rick feels like a tiny little imp. But Carol did not send Abraham or Gabriel or Maggie. She sent her very best, the worst of the worst, the most stinky, most vile, most repulsive and rotten egg. And he can tell that even though this angel has power and wings like a semi-truck, Rick’s own magic could rival his.

So Rick sticks his tongue out. And the angel leaps at him.

But the problem with big wings is that they’re slow wings and Rick flies circles around him, cackling in glee. He gets ahead of himself on one pass, though, closing his eyes in full on laughter before getting smacked in the face with an angel wing which he thought would be soft like Charmin, but ends up feeling like a brick wall.

Rick goes down, falling flat on his ass and staring up at an _incredibly_ smug angel. He’s about to get up and go at it again when he hears baby laughter from the crib. Both Rick and the angel spin their heads to find Judith awake and bouncing. “ _Punch!_ ” she says with feeling.

The angel rolls his eyes hard, but drops to the ground, morphing back easily into his street attire. “She’s just learning how to speak and you’ve taught her _punch_?”

Rick shrugs and stands, shaking himself into emo again. “Better than _pray_ ,” he says and crosses his arms.

The angel sighs and glances quickly over Rick’s body. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

Rick shakes his head. “She’s my baby.”

“Mine, too,” the angel says with a frown and then ripples himself out, crosses his arms. “Michonne told me you would show up. Some damn demon, at least. She said I was going to have to deal with you.” He glares. “But even if God says so, it doesn’t mean I have to like it.“

“Well, Carol sent me to guide Judith, so yes, you _are_ going to have to deal with it. I’m Rick, but I’m sure you’ve heard of me.” Rick puffs himself up. “I’m personally responsible for the staggering debt of the American educational system.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “Of _course_ a demon would be into politics.”

Rick scoffs. “Best forum for messing things up.”

“So you’re really not going to leave?”

“Leave my little monster? _No_. How else would she grow up to be diabolical?”

“She will see God’s light.” The angel nods firmly. “She will fight for good.”

“Typical angel,” Rick says with an eye roll, “Your best quality is lying to yourself.”

“I’ll have you know--”

But whatever Daryl was going to say is quickly cut off by the creaking of the door as Lori enters. She frowns at the light already on in the nursery and walks to Judith’s crib with heavy, sleep-laden steps. Daryl’s eyes widen in panic and he grabs Rick’s shoulders quickly, slamming him into an open empty closet in the corner. Rick grunts and is shocked and appalled when Daryl’s body follows him into the tiny little space.

Daryl cranes his neck and when Lori isn’t looking, closes the door swiftly and silently, casting them into darkness.

Rick rolls his eyes. “She can’t _see_ you, you know.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Daryl says with a huff, “I know that. But she could unwittingly bump into us and I’m sure she could hear all that noise that you were making.”

“Hey!” Rick defends himself, “You started it.”

“Typical demon blaming other people for their problems.”

“Jackass.”

“Miscreant.”

“Bastard.”

“Lowlife.”

Rick punches him in the gut and Daryl grunts, his upper body bending forward on instinct and his ass smacking into the wall with a thump. “SHIT!” he says and then reaches forward, grabbing Rick’s shoulders and digging his nails in so he can hold him still. “ _STOP IT_ ,” he hisses.

Rick thinks for an angel he has some mighty deep talons on those fingers. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Well, don’t act like a _little twerp_.”

Rick has half a mind to switch into his demon body and tail slap the whore, but he resists by the skin of his teeth. Instead, he sticks his head up proudly and turns his back to Daryl, crossing his arms. “I do not associate with the garbage boys of Heaven.”

“Garbage boy?” Daryl says. “Is that what you think I am?”

“Well, clearly you are under-qualified for your mission.”

There’s a rustling behind him and then all of a sudden Rick is enveloped in wings that shine like the first sunlight as it cast itself over the land on that very first day of creation. He blinks as the wings come down over him, running over his body so lightly he can barely feel them. They touch his face, down soft, and something in him tries to sing with them--something long ago dead and human, something like what his mama used to say was the Holy Ghost.

The wings pull him back and then, incredibly, he’s against Daryl’s chest and those strong biceps are wrapped around him and he realizes belatedly that the angel is holding him. “My name is Daryl,” he whispers into Rick’s ear and Rick shivers despite himself, “and I am the angel of the forgotten. You want to know why I dress like a biker?” Rick swallows hard at his voice, the deep tenor that rings with a heaviness that Rick didn’t know Heaven was capable of. “I’m the patron of them. The guardian of all of the lost causes. It’s my _job_ to bring the hopeless back from the brink. To remind them of themselves. I was sent here because this is my purpose. The rest of Heaven has given up on Judith. They are sure she will bring the end of God. But not me. I never give up.” Daryl leans his head over Rick’s shoulder and Rick stares into his deep, blue eyes again, memorized and held. “On anyone.”

Rick swallows again, the feathers and the aura blinding him. But despite how human Daryl makes Rick feel, despite how enclosed he is, wrapped up in the essence of him, he rebels. Because Rick is a fighter and he knows that this feeling is a lie. It’s always a lie. If Daryl wants to unleash his aura, well…two can play at that game. Rick hits him with _his well_. It’s his own personal attack--the mixed up and angry feelings of what it was like that day that he became a demon, that day that he turned his back on everything that was human and embraced Carol. It’s not tiny and impish, like everything he’s been doing with Judith. It’s real and _hard_ and evil, deep seated fears and anger and screaming rage. The feeling of abandonment, loneliness, betrayal. The concentrated pill of being caged and forced to live a life you were never meant to live. It’s overwhelming and as it hits Daryl, he stumbles back and Rick watches in awe as his wings flash from white to blackened and burnt for just a split second. Rick keeps his eyes on Daryl’s face, watches as it contorts in pain and then, incredibly, starts crying.

And then the second is over. Both Daryl and Rick stand down, back into their hidden human forms again. Daryl looks up at him with wide eyes and opens his mouth to say something, but Rick doesn’t want to hear it. Just because Daryl felt what it was like to be Rick for one second doesn’t give him any right to speak and nothing he can say will change one damn thing. “Don’t fucking lock me in a closet again,” Rick says and opens the door. By that time, Lori and Judith are no longer in sight, so he stalks out of the nursery with heavy, clipped steps of his red-soled boots and walks outside to find the deep shade of a willow tree.

He kneels at its base, rocking on his heels, and he doesn’t weep and he doesn’t scream. That’s all been beaten out of him long ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG!  
> [Centuries by Fall Out Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBr7kECsjcQ)


	5. Establishing the Status Quo

Rick gives himself half-an-hour to calm down and seriously considers retreating to his lovely apartment with his lovely mirror, but decides that he never backs down from a fight and gets up off his heels and walks back into the nursery. Judith and Lori are no longer in the house--off doing some errands around town, Rick guesses, but the angel is still there, sitting cross-legged in the corner and looking almost sullen.

He’s wearing his biker vest and Rick glares irrationally at the gold highlights in his hair. He crosses his arms defiantly and stands in the doorway with a wide stance. “I’m staying,” he informs Daryl and to his surprise, Daryl just nods quickly.

“Okay,” he says and then shrugs. “I figured.”

Rick presses his luck. “In the nursery. This is now my territory.”

Daryl sighs. “Fine. I’ve already taken over the guestroom.”

Rick frowns and asks himself for the first time how long Daryl has really been staying here, before he decides to just ask him directly. Daryl shrugs. “Since that first day in the park,” he says, squinting one eye up at Rick and picking at the carpet, “The day with that puppy, you know? You’re a terrible person, by the way.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Demon,” he says, gesturing to himself.

Daryl nods and gives a quick little flick up-and-down his body. “Yeah. The attire kind of gives it away.”

“You have to have ambiance,” Rick tells him and walks a little into the room, leaning against the wall.

“Like you better with the brown hair,” Daryl tells Rick. “More natural. More you.”

Rick narrows his eyes. “How’d you know I have brown hair?”

Daryl shrugs and goes back to picking at the carpet. “I’m an angel. It’s our job to know things. Besides, it’s not exactly like you’re hiding it. Your hair’s brown when you’re a demon.” He stares at a spot on the ground and then gives a huge sigh, his shoulders lifting and then falling bonelessly against his body. “Rick...about earlier--”

“Don’t,” Rick says and glares. “You have no right. You don’t know me and stop doing that bullshit thing that you angels do where you just _assume_ you know my life because I gave you a tiny glimpse of it and you know that my hair is dyed. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise, you just leave me the hell alone and let me raise Judith the way that I see fit.”

The silence after Rick’s speech fills the room like a slow-moving toxic gas and Daryl finally stands, pushing himself up from the carpet in one fluid move. “I’ll let you be,” he concedes, “but you still can’t turn Judith into a monster. I’ll be here to help her along the way, so you’re just going to have to deal with a little goodness every once in awhile.”

Rick sticks his nose in the air and then walks further into the room for no real reason except to assert his dominance. “ _Fine_ ,” he says.

Daryl grunts. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.”

“Okay, _fine_. GOD,” Daryl says with a shake of his head. “Demons.” And then he’s walking out the door, leaving Rick in his new self-proclaimed home, still lonely, pissed, and a good bit on edge.

***

The rest of the day flies by uneventfully. Lori brings Judith home in the late afternoon and she makes supper for herself and feeds Judith her can of mushed up peas. Once they’re done with that, Lori leaves Judith in the nursery and Rick proceeds to teach her how to really swing her fist around while simultaneously learning that when she says “punch,” she doesn’t mean the action, she means himself--her new little name for him.

He picks her up and cuddles her, walks her around the room and bonds with her by messing up the curtains and opening the window to hiss at the neighbor’s cat.

Daryl stays in the guestroom. Rick doesn’t care.

When it’s time for bed, Lori settles Judith in and turns off the lights, retreating to her own bedroom. Rick fluffs himself out into his true form, flexing his wings which are getting restless from spending so much time on the ground. He’s about to prepare to go to sleep himself before he has a thought. Maybe that’s just what that stupid angel prick is waiting for. Maybe he’s going to poke him again or _worse_ , envelop him in those damn fruffy little wings of his and try to make Rick feel _safe_ and _loved_. Blech. Rick wants to throw up.

So Rick does the only rational thing. He sneaks down the hall on his tippy-toes and cracks open the guestroom door, spying inside. His muscles are bunched up ready for a fight or an argument, but what he gets is neither one. Because Daryl is already asleep.

And if that wasn’t just weird enough, then it’s definitely weird to see just _how_ the angel sleeps. Rick guesses he really shouldn’t be that judgemental considering that he likes to slumber upside down, dripping from the ceiling like a slow-moving stalactite, but at least he doesn’t sleep on a damn fluffy cloud two feet up from the covers of the bed. _Angels_.

Except this cloud isn’t quite as fluffy as Rick is guessing it should be. He frowns and moves into the room more thoroughly, studying Daryl and the cloud. He’s sleeping on his side, curled into a fetal position and his brow is furrowed and his mouth is downcast. The top layer of the cloud is white and soft and billowy and Rick thinks that’s probably its natural state. But as it slips downward, it goes from white to silver to dark gray and on the underside of it, in the space between the cloud and the bed, little lightning bolts keep crackling and the tiniest rumbles of thunder can be heard.

Rick sticks his hand under the cloud, feels the electricity of the tiny little thunderstorm humming. One lightning bolt strikes the back of his hand and he whips it away, shaking the tingles from his palm.

“What are you doing?” Daryl asks and Rick jumps, looking up to find that Daryl hasn’t moved a muscle except to open his eyes.

“You’re raining on the bed,” Rick informs him.

Daryl frowns and bends down, looks under his cloud. “It’s not rain. It’s just a little thunder.”

Rick scoffs. “Why are you thundering?”

Daryl looks up at him, exasperated and shakes his head before turning on his side to face away from Rick. “You’re not the only one that’s had a bad day.”

Rick is about to protest that his blast of self-righteous personal agony is no reason for _Daryl_ to be in a tizzy when Daryl sighs softly into the room and says, “Could you just go away? I’m not really in the mood to argue.”

Rick grunts. “Just, uh...came to say I was going to sleep in the nursery again. Watch over Judy.”

Daryl gives him a one-armed shrug. “Okay.”

“Cool,” Rick says and then bites his lip, wonders if he should say anything else, but shakes his head at himself. He doesn’t need to make _friends_ with an _angel_. “Well, goodnight,” he says and walks quickly out of the room before Daryl can respond.

***

It’s afternoon and the big bay window that Rick is currently curled up in is letting in the light nice and softly, casting only the smallest shadows from the willow tree outside in the yard that is softly swaying. Rick is in his full-on demon mode and has his eyes closed, catnapping against the window and letting the quiet hum of the neighborhood lull him into a trancelike state despite its gagging perfectness.

All in all he’s having a pretty good day. Lori left early in the morning to run errands and spend some time with her book club friends, meaning that the only people in the house are Rick, Judith, the babysitter, and the angel that he hasn’t seen all morning.

Which means that it’s particularly annoying that Daryl chooses to pop his head into the nursery at the point in time in which Rick has finally drifted off. “ _Richard_ ,” Daryl says in a demanding and very authoritative voice. Rick cracks one eye open and grunts. “Why is the babysitter unconscious?”

Rick scoffs. “Probably because of the morphine overdose.”

Daryl lets in a sharp breath straight up through his nose. “How much did you give her?”

Rick thinks and then raises his shoulders in a very defined shrug. “Uh dun nu,” he says.

“You _don’t know_?”

“Was enough to get her out of my hair.”

Daryl blinks rapidly and then looks back to the front of the house before whipping his head around toward Rick. “Figures,” he grunts and then stalks out of the room. Rick watches him go and hears the grating dinging sound of angel magic at work before Daryl stomps back into the room with a walk that’s way too angry for anything that came from Heaven. “She’ll be fine, but she’s sleeping it off. Why did you do that?”

“Wanted to spend time with Judy,” Rick says easily.

Daryl jerks his head over to the crib, only just now noticing the missing baby. “Where is she?”

Rick nods his head down to the mess of wings that he has wrapped around his midsection. Daryl arches an eyebrow. “That’s not safe. What if she fell out of your wings?”

Rick rolls his eyes so hard he’s afraid he’ll need Daryl’s healing magic to put them back in, but he ruffles his wings and removes them so that Daryl can peek underneath. Judith is curled up on Rick’s midsection, laying on her stomach, and wrapped thoroughly around her waist for extra measure is Rick’s tail. He lifts the very tip of it and waves it at Daryl. “Got it covered. Thanks, though,” he says with extreme sarcasm and then flaps his wing back down over Judith.

Daryl crosses his arms, doing that weird thing that Rick has noticed he does where he sticks his fingers practically up his armpits. “I still think she would be safer in her crib.”

“And _I_ think you would be a lot more fun without that gigantic metal pole up your ass. But we can’t all get what we want, can we?”

“What do you want from me?” Daryl suddenly asks with a huff.

Rick cocks his head back and grunts. “ _Me_? You’re the one who keeps pestering me. I was just sleeping.”

“Look. We’re going to have to learn to live with each--”

“Nu huh, Mr. Glowy,” Rick says. “You can just butt out. Nothing’s stopping you. I’m sure God can lose one now and then.”

Daryl glares at him and then suddenly drops to a kneeling position, batting Rick’s wing away. “Judy,” he says in a soft, sweet tone that makes Rick’s skin crawl. Judith pops her eyes open and smiles at him, a bright and wide motion that makes Rick seethe in jealousy. Daryl opens his arms and Judith makes a motion to start crawling toward him, but Rick tightens his tail.

“Hey, Little Monster,” he says and watches as Judith turns her head quickly to him. “Don’t listen to that douche.”

“Language around the baby,” Daryl says.

“Ass,” Rick responds eloquently. “Bastard. Bitch. Fucknut. Godd--”

Daryl smacks him hard on the back of his head. Rick glares and tries to estimate how quick he can be and whether or not his horn can gouge Daryl from this distance. But then, he gets an even better idea. “Let’s play a game,” Rick says with a grin. He stands up, using his tail to swoosh Judith up into his arms. He carries her to the center of the room and deposits her and then shakes himself into his jeans again. He walks to the end by the window and squats down, motioning Daryl to the other side.

Daryl walks over hesitantly and kneels like Rick is kneeling. “Let’s see who she comes to,” Rick says with a grin.

“Are you serious? She’s not a dog.”

But Rick is already in competition mode. He arches up his hands and makes “come here” gestures and starts cooing. “Come here, Monster. To Punch, little girl. Yeah, let’s make some trouble. Punch that bitch.”

Judith giggles and flops onto her side from her sitting position. She gets onto all fours and positions herself toward Rick and all Daryl’s protests fall away from his lips at the prospect of losing.

“Judith,” Daryl practically sings. “Come to the light. You’re such a good little girl. Such a pretty girl, inside and out.”

Judith hesitates.

“ _Punch_ ,” Rick emphasizes.

“ _Light_ ,” Daryl counters.

“Punch!”

“Light!”

“Punch!”

“Judith,” Daryl says and makes eye contact with the girl. Judith finally chooses and starts crawling his way.

“Unfair!” Rick cries, although he doesn’t know on what basis he’s judging the unfairness. “Are you using your aura? Don’t cheat!”

“Not cheating,” Daryl says with a smirk and then scoops Judith up when she gets close enough. “But you have only been spending time with her at the park.” Daryl stands and positions Judith on his side, holding her securely and close. “And I have been here for the diaper changes and the bedtime stories and that time that she had a cold--”

“She was sick?” Rick cuts in.

“Twenty-four hour bug,” Daryl says and looks down at her. “But she’s all better now, aren’t you, angel?” He smiles and carries her over to the crib, laying her down softly on the blanket. “If you want to really get to know her,” Daryl says, “you’re going to have to be a part of her life. Not just give the annoying parts of it morphine.” He rolls his eyes and tucks her in. “She’s a precious girl,” Daryl says and brushes a strand of hair from her forehead. “And she doesn’t need you confusing her. So if you’re not going to help, maybe find a different job.”

Rick glares. “Light isn’t the only path, you know. All you angels act like it is, but there are some very awesome, very freeing, very _good_ things that can happen to a person when they walk with Carol.”

“Oh?” Daryl says with that smug undertone and Rick can feel what’s coming in his gut, the same as he knows that rain is going to happen after the first thunder rumble or that snow will fall when it gets cold. “And did becoming a demon make your life any better?”

There it is. Daryl acts like he knows, but he doesn’t. “Yes,” Rick says with a sincerity that makes Daryl blink. “It did.”


	6. The Ones You Tease

Rick gets up before dawn and takes Judith out of her crib, dressing her in her puffball coat before carrying her out into the yard. He hops the fence to the neighbor’s easily and grabs the tabby cat by the tail, hauling it around while it whips and hisses and panics at being man-handled by an invisible force.

He sets it down a little ways away from Judith and forms a cage around it so it can’t get away. He grins at Judith and rubs his hands together. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?” he tells her and then sits down, pulling her into his lap. She coos and sticks her fist in her mouth like she likes to do and Rick conjures a dog whistle necklace for himself. He puts the whistle in his mouth and blows, tapping his fingers against the side of his hip while he waits for any strays to come running.

Judith bites at his knee. Rick keeps whistling and the cat continues to growl.

And then, out of nowhere, like a jet plane blasting through the sky, Daryl comes stumbling out of the door, crashing into the yard, holding his hands over his ears and grimacing in pain. “WHAT IN HEAVEN’S ACRES ARE YOU DOING?” he yells.

Rick stops the whistle and frowns, still holding it in his mouth. Daryl sighs in relief and begins to drop his hands from his ears and just about when he’s gone into full scale respite, Rick blows the whistle again. _Loud_. Daryl shrieks and covers his ears and gives Rick a full on glare. “STOP THAT.”

Rick cackles. “I didn’t know angels were dogs,” he says, letting the whistle drop from his mouth. Daryl just keeps glaring, so Rick reaches for it again and sticks it in his mouth, blowing hard. Daryl doubles over and Rick claps his hands in glee. Judith giggles along with Rick and starts bouncing in her seat on his lap.

Rick keeps blowing in what he hopes is a harsh and shrill tone, but eventually Daryl stumbles his way over to Rick and in one swift motion smacks his hand into Rick’s windpipe. Rick chokes and the whistle spits out of his mouth and once it’s free, Daryl grabs the chain and rips it off Rick’s neck, turning and throwing it far off into the distance.

Rick coughs and grabs at his throat, but manages to roll his eyes at the same time. “I _conjured_ that,” he tells Daryl through a raspy voice. “I can just conjure another one.”

Daryl narrows his eyes. “You are going to personally make me lose all of my grace and light.”

Rick perks up. “Really?” he says. “You think I could?”

Daryl scoffs and shakes his head and then collapses next to Rick in a heap. He folds his hands over his bent knees and hangs his head. “I have never met someone as utterly annoying as you are.”

Rick preens. “That’s what Carol says to me, too. That’s why I’m here you know.” He reaches down and tickles Judith’s head. She laughs and starts smacking at him.

Daryl reaches up and fiddles with his ear and Rick wonders if he’s hearing the echoes of the whistle still. “What were you doing with that thing anyway?”

Rick shrugs. “Dog whistle. Trying to get strays to eat the cat.” He motions to the cage, where the tabby is now trying to look small and unimportant. Daryl frowns.

“You and animals,” he says and then the cage vanishes with a flick of his hand. The tabby cat shoots off to the fence and crawls through a small opening in the corner and Rick wonders if it will ever be back.

“You’re no fun.”

Daryl grunts. “Plenty of fun.”

“In Heaven, I’m sure,” Rick says with a scoff, “where fun equates to bingo parties and the conga line.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “You have no idea what I do for fun.”

“Okay then,” Rick says with a challenge in his voice. “Tell me. _Surprise_ me.”

Daryl chews on his lip and then looks out over the yard. “Like nature. Go out sometimes. Help everything pass as it should--plants grow, animals die.”

Rick blinks. “ _Die_?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“As in little fluffy innocent animals.”

“Circle of life,” Daryl answers as if that was what Rick was really asking. He shrugs. “Everything’s there for a purpose. Sometimes things have to end.”

“And how do you do that, huh? You don’t have death magic.”

Daryl smiles at him just slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting up only by the tips of their edges. “No, but my healing magic works just fine with the plants.”

Rick scoffs and gives him a look, so Daryl falters and answers. “Sometimes I come across animals in traps. Or just sick. Too far gone to heal. They’re forgotten, too, you know. And after all, that’s part of my job. But no, I don’t use my magic for that. Even if I could it would seem disrespectful. You should feel their deaths. Should be present with them. So I use one conjuring spell. And that’s it.”

Rick is nothing if not curious. “What do you conjure?”

Daryl studies him for a moment, but then shrugs to himself and with an irritating ding, something heavy and large appears on his back. He reaches around and pulls it over his head and shows it to Rick, who blinks. It’s a crossbow. And a modern looking one at that. In fact, if Rick didn’t know any better, he would think this was a perfectly average man sitting in the backyard, showing Rick his possessions.

Rick reaches out to touch it, but Daryl whips it away quickly. “No way,” he says. “You know the power of this thing? It’s meant to be a respectful tool, not a demon’s toy.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “It’s pretty,” he says. “And you kill things with it.”

“Because I have to,” Daryl clarifies, “because it’s the right thing.”

“Thought something like killing Bambi would get you kicked out of Heaven.”

“Thought the same thing would go for demons who cuddle babies.”

Rick snaps his head down to look at Judith, who is idly studying Rick’s knee again. “She’s cute,” he says by way of defense.

They descend into silence and awkwardly sit there for a few moments. Rick thinks about going and getting the cat again, but decides it’s too much energy. The day is only beginning, so he’s sure he can pull out a few tricks later.

“We should get inside,” Daryl finally says, “before Lori wakes up. And then they’re going to the bank today and the park, of course. And it’s grocery day, so they won’t be back till later, I’m sure.”

Rick frowns. “How do you know so much? Is that one of your angel things? Healing and getting into people’s heads and knowing the future?”

Daryl laughs, an honest sound that takes Rick aback for a moment. “No,” he says with a shake of his head and then he’s standing and taking Judith from Rick’s lap. “Lori has a scheduler.” He smiles and turns on his heel and Rick watches him with a cautious amount of respect.

***

Boring, boring, boring. Dull, dull, dull. Tedious. Monotonous. Mundane. Humdrum. Stale. Tiring. Lifeless. Is that all Rick can think of for synonyms? He feels like he needs a thesaurus. He sighs, letting his wings drip bonelessly around him. He’s sitting half in the bay window, his head and shoulders hanging out and down toward the nursery carpet. Lori and Judith are gone and Daryl is being no fun at all and Rick is so incredibly, utterly, wholly, eternally _bored out of his skull_.

There’s nothing to do in an unoccupied nursery and he’s restless and fidgety, filled with buckets of unused energy. He wants to get outside and run--or better yet, fly--but he also doesn’t want to give up quite yet on his determination to stay in the nursery at all costs. He can be just as good of a guardian as Daryl can, if you replace the “good” part with “holistically evil” and throw in a good bit of prank pulling.

So he has to find something to occupy his time while he waits. _Something_.

Which is how he ends up with his cock out and his tail dipping into a lube bottle at one o’clock in the afternoon. After all, there’s only one thing that he can do with himself to fully erase boredom and that is seeking after sexual release. He really wishes he had his apartment mirror with him, but whatever. He can imagine.

He settles down into a better position in the bay window, letting the sunlight course over his red-tinted skin. His wings flutter happily around him and his horns rest easily against the glass window as he touches himself, moving his hand slowly up and down and willing this to last for as long as possible--till five would be good, when Lori and Judith get back.

He thinks about himself in small little doses, moving up his body from his sexy third toe on his right foot to the curve of his calf muscle to the dip of his bellybutton to the line of his collarbone to his glorious and polished horns.

He’s just getting into it, just really _fully_ starting to stroke himself and his tail is just beginning to tease at his own opening when the nursery door opens with the loud motion of someone walking into a room without any regard for said room’s occupants.

Everything happens at once. Daryl stalks into the room, a sentence on his lips that gets cut off in a squeak when he sees the view in front of him. Rick, for his part, only skips the motion of his hand just slightly before keeping on keeping on. After all, he’s a demon who doesn’t really care that much about modesty and why would he anyway when he’s as sexy as he is?

Daryl starts floundering and retreating, stumbling over his own feet as he walks backwards out of the room and his wide eyes and stammering mouth are just all kinds of hot and kind of cute, too, so Rick tilts his head back, arching his neck and chest outward as he raises his hips on a particularly virulent stroke. He tilts his body as just the perfect angle so there’s no way that Daryl can miss what’s happening down below and makes a ripple motion with his tail as he pushes it in further. Daryl goes apple red and smacks into the wall instead of the doorway, not watching where he’s going.

“You could come join me, baby,” Rick says with a wink and a little wave of the tip of his wing. Daryl squeaks and shakes his head firmly and it’s only then that he turns around and makes a beeline for the door, slamming it on its way out. Rick sighs and frowns. Angels. Of course Daryl wouldn’t stoop to joining in on something so utterly sinful.

... _but it would have been nice, wouldn’t it?_ his cock tells him and gives itself a little twitch at that. Rick bites back a moan. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. It would have been _very_ nice indeed.

It doesn’t take Rick very long to finish after that. And once he’s done and cleaned up, he can’t help but smiling out the wide window at the willow tree. Things have just gotten interesting. Very, _very_ interesting.

Rick’s pretty sure that it’s going to be a good long while before he’s bored again.


	7. Let's Have a Conversation

The next day, Rick struts into Daryl’s room, a little spring in the click of his heels on the floor. Daryl is sitting on his cloud above the guestroom bed, studying what Rick thinks is probably either some pouncy journal or the Bible and either way, Rick wants to gag and spit. Daryl blinks at the intrusion, but sets the book aside.

“‘Morning,” he says to Rick and sits there, waiting for what Rick has to say.

Rick puts on his most seductive smile and slinks into the room with a snap of his hips, his chest puffed out and his eyes glittering sex. “Thought we should talk about yesterday,” he says with a purr to his voice, drawling out the words into a deep molasses-thick rumble and watching Daryl for any reaction.

But Daryl must be missing all of Rick’s flirting cues, because he plows forward like they’re talking about business. “We don’t have to talk about it,” Daryl says and grunts. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry or anything. I was the one who should have knocked.”

“ _Sorry_?” Rick says and snorts, letting his straight-spined sexy demeanor fall quickly back into his defensive cocky stance. “I didn’t come here to say I’m _sorry_.”

Daryl blinks rapidly. “...what?”

Rick grins and decides if subtlety isn’t going to get Daryl, he’s going to have to be extremely clear about this. So he jumps up on the cloud and is only mildly surprised to find that it holds his weight the same as any bed would. With a quick shuffle and flick of his hips he lands in Daryl’s lap and puts his hands on either side of Daryl’s face. He grins down wickedly. “Came to say you didn’t have to leave so soon,” Rick says, trailing one hand down Daryl’s neck and to his chest. “There’s no shame in giving a man a little somethin’, somethin’,” Rick says and bends his head quickly to the side, nipping hard at Daryl’s ear. “Don’t tell me you’ve never helped a brother out.”

Daryl finally gets his bearings and pushes at Rick hard, shoving him off of his lap and across the cloud. Rick frowns, but stays where he is. “I do _not_ ,” Daryl says with a firm shake of his head, “engage in those actions.”

Rick laughs and then tapers off when he sees that Daryl isn’t joking. “You mean you’ve never given a helping hand?”

“ _No_ ,” Daryl says venomously. “I have not. I haven’t even--” He snaps his mouth shut and turns his head to the side to glare at the wall.

“Never even what?” Rick says and arranges himself so he’s sitting nicer on the cloud.

Daryl bites his lip and slides a glance Rick’s way before quickly looking at the wall again. Rick waits it out in silence. “I’ve never...done that before.”

“Done what?” Rick says, because he’s pretty sure they’ve already established Daryl’s lack of handjob experience.

Daryl sighs and says softly, “Touched myself like you were doing.”

Rick blinks.

“And don’t even get me started,” Daryl continues, “on what you were doing _down there_ with your _orifices_. _Why_ would you do that?”

Rick laughs. “Because it feels good?”

“How could that _possibly_ \--”

“Wait,” Rick says and holds up a hand. “You’ve never _jacked it_?”

Daryl frowns. “I’m an angel,” he says, enunciating each word perfectly. “I don’t get those urges.”

Rick balks. “ _What_?”

Daryl shrugs. “I don’t...feel sexual lust.”

“ _WHAT_?”

“I don’t feel the urge to release--”

“No, I know what you’re saying,” Rick says with a huff. “I just can’t believe it.”

Daryl looks at the wall again. “Don’t have to be a dick about it.” He pauses and picks at a little fluff of cloud. “Angels are not supposed to...use our bodies like that. We’re not presumed to have relationships with sexual beings and...it never really mattered to me. I’ve never even...thought about it. Before.”

Rick studies him sitting there on his cloud in his jeans and vest, his wings put up and his halo just that light ring of gold in his hair. He looks small and uncomfortable, sullen almost and Rick suddenly has an itch crawling through his whole body to see what it’s like when an angel comes. He wants to make this one feel _good_ , so good he’ll never go back to the ways of no sexual urges. It’s a want akin to what Rick has to hurt puppies and crush all of the barbie dolls that little girls love in the world. It’s a maddening fire to _do this thing_ , to _cause trouble_ and Rick realizes that he now has a _goal_ set in mind and when he sets his mind to something, it gets done.

So Rick flips himself up onto his hands and knees and starts crawling toward Daryl slowly. Daryl studies him warily, but doesn’t push him away again and Rick pulls himself up to settle himself nicely in Daryl’s lap. “Well,” he purrs, “maybe we can change that.”

“No,” Daryl tells him, but doesn’t make any other physical moves besides that.

Rick hums to himself and runs his fingers lightly over what skin he can reach. “Think I want to try.”

“No.”   


“Think I could make you…”

“No.”

“It would feel so good,” Rick purrs into his ear. “There’s this little button inside of you…” He dips his hand to Daryl’s waistband, tries to sneak his fingers down to Daryl’s ass, but Daryl grabs his wrist quickly and pulls it away.

“No,” he tells Rick firmly and then all of a sudden the cloud is gone and they’re crashing to the bed. Daryl rolls to the side easily as they go down and stands up, leaving Rick thumping into a tangled mess, wrinkling the covers for the first time since they’ve been here.

Daryl stands to the side and brushes himself off. “That’s inappropriate of you,” he tells Rick, “and I cannot allow it to happen.”

Rick frowns at that choice of wording. _Cannot_ _allow_ , not _will not happen because I am incapable of it_ , but _cannot allow_ , as in if he did _allow_ , Rick has a way in. Rick sighs and crawls off the rumpled bed before sliding up to Daryl. He places his hands on either side of Daryl’s head and shoves his body against Daryl’s, causing Daryl’s back to hit the wall. He grins up close and personal. “So a challenge then,” he says with a wink. “I like a challenge.”

***

Lori sets out her dinner on the dining table and puts Judith in her highchair, cutting up spaghetti pieces for her to eat. Judith bounces and giggles, wobbling in the chair, and gets the noodles all over herself and everything else, but Rick is barely paying attention from his peripheral view.

His eyes are glued across the table to Daryl, who is sitting next to Judith and doing some kind of something by whispering to her that Rick is sure is shady as fuck. Rick studies him, really _studies_ him for the first time since he popped his eyes open and saw his annoyingly divine presence.

Daryl is attractive. Rick can’t lie about that one. His hair frames his face in a way that looks incredibly bad-boyish and kind of scruffy, but is adorable in the naturalness of it. His eyes are piercing and honest and observant--like he really is aware of you and not just pretending to be involved in the interaction. His biceps are to kill for--Rick wants to lick every inch of his arms--and he has a good figure, slim at the waist, but still built.

And he’s as innocent as a newborn lamb, which adds 1000% of spice to his attractiveness. Rick is in, so _very, very_ in. He wants to do the dirtiest things to Daryl, make him blush and stammer and stumble like he did when he saw Rick going at himself. He wants to look in Daryl’s eyes and see the heat and the shame reflected there and know that he’s the reason for it.

He wonders if it’s possible for a demon to seduce an angel. But he figures that if it is, he’s going to be the one to do it. And what else does he have to do for the umpteen million days while he waits for Judith to make her decision? If he can pull this off, he’ll be in great luck. Having a sure thing on the side while he guides Judith to her ultimate heinous destiny? Perfection.

Rick sits back in his chair slowly, trying not to disturb Daryl or call attention to himself. He lets his true form come on quietly, folding his wings back so Daryl won’t be startled and trying his best to make his horns seem nonchalant. He wiggles his tail and gets it into perfect position and then every so subtly slides it up Daryl’s thigh.

Daryl jumps and his leg bangs into the table hard. Lori flinches. “What on earth was that?” she says to Judith and looks under the table, but of course she can’t see anything.

Daryl glares at Rick. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Rick doesn’t remove his tail, but instead wraps it around Daryl’s leg and gives it a little squeeze. “I’m a physical person,” he says. “I like physical things.”

Daryl ducks his head just slightly and gives Rick a look that he hasn’t seen in ages--one of those “you know what you’re doing is wrong” looks that makes Rick’s skin crawl--and reaches down to untangle Rick’s tail from his leg. He’s gentle, his working hands moving over Rick’s tail with a rough texture, but a careful touch, and he doesn’t yank or pull, just simply removes. “Well, I’m not,” Daryl tells him, “a physical person.”

Rick shrugs and puts the tip of his tail in Daryl’s hand. He watches the spade as it flips up and down on Daryl’s palm and then he slowly wraps it around his hand. “I’m not so bad to touch,” he says.

Daryl quirks one side of his mouth up. “I know,” he says and gives the spade a squeeze. “But I don’t think you’re going to get what you want.”

Rick dips his eyes down into seduction mode, running his tongue over his lips a little too thoroughly as he speaks. “You never know,” he says and watches intently as a blush starts creeping up Daryl’s neck.

Daryl sighs and reaches under the table, deposits Rick’s spade on his own knee. “No,” he says with a firm and heavy tone, “I do.”


	8. Spectacles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added new tags for chapter.

The next day, Daryl is whispering to Judith again and Rick pays more attention this time since things are starting to get suspicious. They’re out in the living room while Lori does laundry and Daryl is sitting with Judith right in front of him, talking to her in a hushed and calming tone. Rick can’t hear what he’s saying, but he’s sure it’s B.S. judging from the glittery aura that’s surrounding both of them.

Rick’s not going to stand for any holy tricks, so he stalks up with crossed arms and a cock to his black jean-clad hips. “What are you doing?”

Daryl glances up at Rick and shrugs. He grabs Judith from where she’s trying to crawl away and helps her into a sitting position before bending down to her level and saying sweetly, “Tell Rick, Judy.”

Judith looks up at Rick with big blue eyes and after a second of distraction with a button on her shirt says in the purest gurgly voice, “Love you.”

Rick squeaks and only barely resists clutching at his own heart. That’s not a frog in his throat, no siree and he doesn’t feel warm and fuzzy, no he does not.

Daryl smiles knowingly at him, the bastard, and feels the need to clarify. “The light of the Lord,” he says and Rick sticks his tongue out in a gag.

“You know,” Daryl continues and lets Judith wander off to one of her building block games, “it wouldn’t hurt you to acknowledge that God loves you every once in awhile. I know you feel it.”

Rick rolls his eyes so hard they almost fall out of his head and turns his back to Daryl, physically silencing him. “Don’t like God and I don’t think she much likes me, but thanks for the effort,” he says.

Behind him, he feels Daryl standing and he panics that they’re going to repeat the closet incident with fluffy wing wrappings, so he whips around fast with his hands held out in defense, but Daryl is just standing there innocently, looking a little surprised and bemused at Rick’s response. Rick stands down and shrugs, trying to look nonchalant about the whole thing and not like he was jumping at shadows. Glowy and feathery shadows.

“You know, God loves all creatures,” Daryl tries again. “She doesn’t just pick and choose.”

“Easy for you to say,” Rick counters and pokes his chest, “Mr. I-Was-Picked-And-Chosen. Remember how you said you can’t allow _my_ inappropriateness?” Rick arches an eyebrow. “Ditto.”

“Let me tell you a story,” Daryl says.

“Carol preserve me,” Rick groans and lets his eyes roll back in his head and his spine go boneless. He falls backwards and collapses on the carpet and doesn’t give one damn about the temper he’s throwing.

Daryl stares down at him and huffs. Rick sighs and concedes. “Fine. Tell me your _angel story_.”

Daryl quirks one side of his mouth up in a half-smile and lays on the carpet beside Rick. Rick can feel his body heat rushing against his side and deeper than that, the center gravity humming of Daryl’s aura--warm and comforting with a sense of home and the underlying sparkling of his grace. Rick sees a little strip of skin between the waistband of his jeans and the bottom of his shirt and he’s filled with an overwhelming desire to touch it, run his nails over it slowly and watch as they hitch little lines into Daryl’s skin, drawing out goosebumps and stolen breaths.

But now’s not the time. Rick has to play it smooth, cool, slow. And besides, Daryl is talking.

“My best friend is an angel, too. I mean, you could probably guess that. But he wasn’t always one. Kind of like you turned into a demon? Others can turn into angels, too. Me, I’ve always been one, but not Merle. He was the first person I saved. Terrible, too. Drugs and women, mostly. And bikes. He used to say all he cared about was ‘big titties and long cigarettes.’ But Michonne still loved him. And he was a really good guy at heart. There was this moment, with his dad. Horrible person. But the kind you can grow up to be, you know? And everyone has a choice. That one little instant when you _decide_. I was with Merle when he decided not to be his father. And that second...it’s breathtaking. He came to see the light and now you know what he is? Patron of Johns. Not kidding you. You got the clap, you got Merle. That’s how it works in Heaven. We each have our own jobs.”

“That why you never seen dick before?” Rick asks, swinging his head to the side and catching Daryl’s eyes like fireflies in a jar.

Daryl grunts and Rick watches him try not to squirm. “Language around the baby,” he says, even though he started it, and then chews on his lip. He leans over to Rick closer, so close in fact that all Rick has to do is shuffle to touch him, but he doesn’t. He gives him his space. “I’ve seen…” Daryl swallows, “ _dick_ before, just not like that.” He curls on his side and Rick wants to whimper. “I come--” Holy shit, Rick hates this man, “--to people in their epiphanies--” Rick has an epiphany, “--and guide them in--” Oh, _in. Yes, yes, yes._ “--to the light.” Rick’s already seeing lights. And stars. Hello, tent. “So I don’t see dicks that are…” Daryl blushes and makes a rising motion with his hand, “...up. What about you?”

Rick laughs. “Oh, I’ve seen plenty of dicks.”

Daryl chuckles and shakes his head. “No, are you, like, the demon of sex or something?”

Rick snorts. “No. Just a demon. We kind of just fiddle with what we want to. I guess if I’m anything, it’s pride.” He pauses for a split second, long enough to tell himself to stop speaking, but something in the nearness of Daryl’s body, in the heat from his skin and the cool seas of his eyes spurs Rick onward. “And abandonment.”

Daryl blinks and starts to open his mouth, but Rick looks away. “The carpet is itchy,” he snaps and stands. Daryl doesn’t move or speak, so Rick just walks over quietly and scoops Judith up, taking her into the bathroom. He’ll teach her how to drown mice by practicing on shampoo bottles in the tub. That will make him feel better.

***

Lori puts Judith to bed at seven, because she’s getting fussy and settles in to watch a _Four Weddings_ marathon, leaving Rick unable to teach Judith important lessons like how to sarcastically roll her eyes or how to play with fire. So Rick wanders the house, poking nail holes randomly in the walls and scuffing up the carpet until he gets to the guestroom and hears suspicious shuffling.

Daryl’s voice carries, even through the closed door. “How do you work this thing? Dammit.”

Rick frowns and leans his ear against the door, but it’s mostly quiet except for the sound of rustling clothing. Rick tells himself to go away, but he _can’t_. He’s a _demon_ and he’s _curious_ and _what is Daryl doing in there_? Rick huffs. A locked door and a plaster wall aren’t going to keep him from finding out.

So he lifts his index finger and blows on his nail, making it into a diamond-hard tiny shovel and he digs a hole in the wall to peek through. Daryl is sitting cross-legged on his cloud, staring down into his lap. At first, Rick thinks he’s looking at that journal again, but he quickly realizes that Daryl’s agitated state isn’t him reading or writing. Rick furrows his brow and then he sees it, just a peek over Daryl’s right thigh that gives him one second of a clear view.

Daryl has his cock out.

Rick swallows and his mouth waters. _Yes_. He knows he shouldn’t, but he’s going to watch this.

Daryl reaches up and runs a frustrated hand through his hair, before dropping his fingers down again and poking at it. Rick rolls his eyes at Daryl’s inexperience. Daryl huffs and looks around the room awkwardly and then squeezes his eyes shut. “You got this, Daryl,” he mutters and nods firmly to the empty room. “How was Rick doing it?”

Rick bites back a moan at Daryl thinking about him while he explores himself and just manages to keep his damn throat quiet. He watches with rapt attention as Daryl reaches down and wraps his hand around the base. _Good, baby,_ Rick thinks, _that’s right. You’re getting it now_.

Daryl moves his hand, pulling upward and Rick can’t help but get a little squirmy. Daryl’s still soft, but he’s got the technique now, so if an angel could ever be capable of it, he’ll get it.

Daryl keeps his eyes shut and goes down to the base again, works his way up a second time. He bites his lip and then Rick glues his eyes to the sight in front of him as Daryl’s bottom lip falls from between his teeth to open in a tiny gasp. Rick pulls his hand into a fist by his side. _Why isn’t he in there_?

Daryl is starting to get harder, his dick growing in his hand, calling to Rick’s own straining in his pants. And then Daryl stops. _Stops_.

He throws his hands out to his sides and then rests them on his knees, hanging his head. “This is stupid,” he hears Daryl muttering. “Why am I doing this?” Daryl scrubs at his face and then Rick swears that he hears through a curtain of hands and hair his own name spoken on Daryl’s lips--soft and with a deep southern drawl, “ _Rick_.”

And if that’s not an invitation, what is?

So Rick takes his index finger again and makes the nail thin and sharp, inserting it into the door lock with ease. The lock clicks and the door slides open and Rick slithers into the doorway, his black jeans tight, his dyed curls fine, and the jewelry plugs in his ears cool as shit.

Daryl snaps his head up and stares at Rick with wide, panicked eyes, but before he can get a word out, Rick says, honey smooth, “Need a little help?”

Daryl blushes scarlet red and Rick watches in fascination as Daryl grabs handfuls of clouds around him and starts stuffing them into his lap to cover his free-hanging member. “How long have you been there?” Daryl snaps, followed quickly by, “Get out.”

Rick tilts his head with a smile and saunters further into the room, shutting the door. “No need for that,” he says and takes a step toward Daryl, who visibly flinches.

Rick hesitates and then pulls his hands up from his sides, palms out. “Easy,” he coaxes, “I’m really asking. Do you want me to show you how?”

Daryl starts shaking his head before Rick’s sentence is even finished and Rick is fairly sure that Daryl is about to crash through the window and get glass all over his wings just to escape, so he better back up a notch.

Rick nods slowly and lowers his hands, but rocks back on his heel toward the door. Daryl is still human in appearance but Rick can sense the angel fluttering under the surface to jump out and fly away. Rick turns with a small, precise motion and says, “Okay. I’ll leave you alone,” but before he makes it to the door, Daryl calls to him.

“Wait,” he says, and Rick pauses but doesn’t turn around. “Y-yes,” Daryl stammers, “show me.”

Rick grins to himself, but wipes the smug look off his face before he turns back. “I can do that,” he whispers and approaches the cloud carefully.

Daryl swallows as Rick crawls up onto the cloud with him and looks relieved that Rick didn’t just climb into his lap again. Rick moves with the pace of a snail, even though his heart is beating a mile a minute, and he reaches out to bat the clouds away.

Daryl’s lap breaks through the fog and Rick smiles. “It’s pretty,” he tells Daryl and Daryl scoffs and stares at his favorite spot on the wall.

“Bet you say that all the time,” he mutters.

Rick chuckles. “I’m bad, but I never laugh at a man’s cock.” He puts his hands gently on either side of Daryl’s hips and tells him, “lie back,” while he pulls. Daryl unfolds his legs and stretches them out toward Rick and grunts as Rick pulls him further down so that he’s horizontal except for where he’s propping his upper body up on his elbows.

Rick smiles in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “Lift your hips,” he purrs and when Daryl does, he slides his jeans and underwear down his thighs to rest right above his knees. “There,” Rick says, “perfect.”

He snaps his fingers to conjure a bottle from the air and Daryl flinches at the sound. Rick smiles. “You’re fine,” he says and opens the bottle to pour some liquid onto his right hand. “Slick is best,” he says with a wink. “Feels better.”

He reaches for Daryl slowly, giving him plenty of time to say no, but Daryl never does. Rick wraps his hand around the base of Daryl’s cock and feels it warm, but soft, in his hand. “Nervous?” he asks and Daryl nods. “Don’t be. It’s natural.” He moves his hand slowly to the head and back down. Daryl fists his fingers in the cloud beside him. “It’s all in the wrist,” Rick says, keeping talking because it seems to calm Daryl. “See?” Rick flicks his wrist up to the head again, down to the base. “Just relax.” He reaches forward with his free hand and slides his fingers into Daryl’s hair, massaging as he goes. “Close your eyes and think about something you like.” Daryl stares at him for a moment, deciding, before he gives a curt nod and squeezes his eyes shut.

“There you go,” Rick encourages him, settling into a slow, soft rhythm. Daryl begins to stir under his hand. “Think about something sexy,” he purrs.

“I don’t know--”

“Ssssh,” Rick says and puts extra pressure under his hand as he pulls up. “Let me do all the work.” Daryl’s mouth falls open and his head tilts back into Rick’s hand. His closed eyelids go from squeezed shut to relaxed and Rick smiles as his thighs spread a little more apart.

“Think about me,” Rick grunts, his voice deep and sex-rough. “Think about watching me.” Daryl lets a sound go, really just a sharp breath, but his cock twitches in Rick’s hand. “Remember the things I was doing? Things like this…” Rick slides his thumb up to the slit and Daryl gasps. Rick chuckles. “You’re pretty like this,” he says and runs his nails down the underside of Daryl’s cock. Daryl’s hips twitch upward involuntarily and Rick feels a wave of pride hit his gut.

“ _Rick_ ,” Daryl breathes and the tremor in his voice makes Rick’s pupils widen.

Rick smiles to himself. “Can I cover you?” he asks and runs the hand in Daryl’s hair down his neck. “I could kiss your skin here,” Rick touches his jawline, “and here,” his Adam’s apple, “and here,” his collarbone.

“ _Yes_ ,” Daryl breathes.

Rick keeps stroking, but repositions himself so that he can straddle Daryl. By now the angel is fully hard and straining and Rick wants more than anything in the world to see him come.

He bends his head down to press his lips to the pulse point on Daryl’s neck and Daryl’s little gasp of pleasure goes straight to Rick’s own groin.

Rick kisses Daryl’s neck and thumbs the head again. Daryl’s hand jumps to Rick’s shoulder and squeezes and Rick starts to ask, “Should I--” but Daryl cuts him off.

“Don’t stop.”

Rick nods and is about to go back to Daryl’s neck when his eyes fly open and trap Rick like fish in a net. They’re dark and sex-blown and begging and honest and Rick swallows down something stuck in his throat that refuses to budge.

Daryl’s eyes flick down to Rick’s lips and he licks his own mouth and opens it, but Rick knows just what he’s going to ask and he’s not ready.

“Got an idea,” he says quickly, “that you’ll like.” He strokes Daryl to distract him.

Daryl blinks. “O-okay? I’ve liked your ideas so far.”

Rick nods and then starts sliding down his body again. This will be good, he tells himself. It will check something off his to-do list: taste an angel’s come.

He gets back to Daryl’s groin and winks at him, slithering into position. “W-what are you doing?” Daryl asks.

Rick grins. “Putting it in my mouth,” he tells Daryl and then goes for it. He gets his lips right there, just one tiny taste of precome before Daryl is shoving at his shoulder and pushing him away.

“No,” Daryl says, “that’s weird.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Come on, baby. You’ve liked what I’ve done so far. Don’t be stuck up about it.”

Rick realizes he’s made the wrong move a second too late and can’t really be surprised when Daryl’s eyes flash fire for a moment and the cloud suddenly collapses under Rick’s weight.

Rick smacks his nose into the bed comforter and groans as he stares up at the cloud and Daryl still above him. “Get out,” Daryl says and goes back to piling conjured clouds over his cock.

“Baby--”

“ _Out_ ,” Daryl growls.

Rick sighs heavily and gives it a couple more seconds, but the atmosphere is now ice-cold and he knows he’ll get nowhere. “ _Fine_ ,” he says and crawls off the bed, heading for the door.

Before he closes it, he turns back slowly and says as sincerely as he can muster, “...sorry.” But Daryl has already turned to face the opposite wall and is curled in upon himself. He doesn’t say anything, so Rick lets him be.


	9. Explosions and Explorations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new chapter up to give you guys something to do before the episode tonight! And, just a hint, you might want to check back tomorrow. ;) I MIGHT be putting up an extra chapter in honor of the new season! 
> 
> Also, new tags for chapter.

Daryl pokes Rick awake.

As usual, Rick squeaks at being set into a swinging motion from where he’s roosting above Judith’s crib. He flutters his wings out of his face and finds Daryl standing there, frowning.

Well, Rick is frowning, too. So fuck him.

Rick looks pointedly off into the distance, at a nail hole he’s put right at Lori’s eye level.

“Look,” Daryl starts, “I don’t really want to talk much about it, but…” He sighs heavily. “Thanks.”

Rick blinks. “ _Thanks_?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says with a shrug, “thanks. For teaching me.”

Rick huffs and flaps his wings back around his shoulders like a blanket. “And did you finish?”

Daryl frowns and shrugs. “It went down.”

“But did you _finish_?”

“How do I know if I finished?”

Rick laughs. “You’d know,” he says.

Daryl looks incredibly grumpy and he rolls his eyes hard at Rick. “ _Look_ ,” he says, “I don’t want to talk about it. Alright? So can we just have a nice day with Judith?”

Rick huffs and stares at his nail hole. He doesn’t acknowledge Daryl, preferring the cold shoulder because it’s impish. Eventually, Daryl just shrugs at him. “Fine. Pout if you want to. Sorry I didn’t let you corrupt me.” He turns and heads for the door. “Lori will get Judith up in a bit. We’re going to hang out in the living room. I would say you could come, but you’re just going to be a bitch about it.”

***

Daryl is right. Lori gets Judith up within the half hour and Rick doesn’t go into the living room because he’s being a bitch about it. He swings in circles from his roost and counts each orbit around the crib. 47. 102. 256. Despite his lack of patience at times, he can be really stubborn when he wants to be.

In fact, it’s well past noon when he does venture out of the nursery and that’s only because he hears a commotion. He’s roosting, still swinging and now humming the worst rap music he can think of when there’s a loud and rather disturbing thump that comes from the living room. He darts his way into the room fast, wings swinging him around the corner, and what he finds stops him right in his flight path. Because sitting there on the floor, crying, is his little monster and she’s _bleeding_ from her forehead.

Rick gasps and dives for her, scooping her up. She’s got a big gash on her head from where she’s smacked into the coffee table and blood is leaking out at an alarming rate.

Rick panics because there’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t have healing magic. He’s a demon. All he has is _bad_ magic and it’s really not going to help matters right now to break her arm or summon a scorpion.

What is he supposed to do? What _can_ he do? Judith is still crying in his arms and he’s getting afraid now and there’s something bubbling up inside him and he doesn’t even realize that he’s been shrieking Daryl’s name over and over again until Daryl is suddenly there and prying Judith from his arms, saying, “Rick. _Rick!_ It’s okay. I’ve got her.”

Daryl drops Judith to the carpet and Rick hears in a flash Lori coming from the kitchen. The bitch. Where was she? She should have been watching her. This is her daughter. This is _Rick’s baby_ , his little monster and where was he? What was he doing, hanging from the fucking ceiling while his little girl was hurt?

Rick beats his wings furiously against the air and watches in panic as Daryl kneels in front of Judith. “It’s okay,” he tells Rick, “it’s fine. Just a little cut.”

 _Little_. She’s pouring blood. Rick tries to talk, but he ends up squeaking and beating at the air heavier and then...a sound that Rick thought he would have never longed for. The soft dinging of angel magic as Daryl waves his hand over Judith’s forehead and the cut disappears.

Lori arrives and Daryl jumps back. The whole incident must have lasted a whole of ten seconds, but to Rick, it’s a second lifetime. His wings start to give way and he hears Daryl yell, “ _Shit!_ ” as the angel grabs him when he falls like a rock down to the carpet.

Rick collapses onto his hands and knees and hears himself crying over and over again, “I can’t lose her, too. I can’t lose her, too,” and he tells himself to shut the _fuck_ up before Daryl just pulls everything out of his aura like the fucking internet, but Daryl must not be that keyed into Rick’s past agony because he’s just holding onto Rick, his arm around Rick’s chest, holding him back from where he’s trying to claw his way to Judith. His mouth is next to Rick’s ear and he’s repeating himself, “It’s okay, Rick. It’s okay. She’s okay. It was just a little cut. Kids get them all the time. It’s not that big of a d--”

“Fuck you,” Rick snarls and breaks away, kicking at Daryl and standing on his own two feet again. He stumbles further into the living room, shaking and trying to calm the jittering of his hands that have found their way to his face, to the bridge of his nose like what he always used to do-- _Rick, honey, it’s your tell. He’s got it, too_.

His heart is swimming at a million miles an hour and his head echoes with a decades old gunshot. His throat closes up and he tries to swallow.

“Are you okay?” Daryl asks.

Rick shakes his head. “Leave me alone,” he says and flies to the nursery.

***

The morning has dipped into the very start of the afternoon before anyone else enters the nursery and Rick is thankful for the heavy cloud cover and promise of rain outside that both reflects his mood and serves to keep the room darkened.

It’s Daryl who enters. Rick knows by the pause of footsteps in the doorway and then the soft scuff of his feet on the carpet as he approaches Rick. Rick doesn’t move his head out from under his wings and he’s mentally preparing to bite Daryl’s finger if Daryl tries to poke him, but Daryl just stands there and says his name softly. _Too_ softly, like if he’s too loud Rick will break.

Rick shuffles his wings to show he’s awake, but doesn’t talk. He’s not in the mood for talking. Daryl stands for a moment and then asks, “Can I come in?”

Come into what? Rick grunts. Daryl pauses, but then Rick feels him pushing at the very top of his wings where they’re sealed closed in his cocoon near the top of the crib. Rick rustles his wings just slightly open and Daryl’s head and shoulders slip inside. It’s just about the perfect height, Daryl’s head level with his own, and Rick looks away from him because he doesn’t want to meet his eyes, even though it’s dark inside his wings.

“Hey,” Daryl says.

Rick grunts again. “Hey.”

Daryl tilts his head just slightly, which is a gargantuan movement in the small space. “You okay?”

Rick frowns. “Don’t want to talk,” he says and Daryl nods.

“Alright,” Daryl says and Rick registers that they’re both whispering even though there’s no need for them to. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks,” Rick clips out, still looking away from Daryl. He swings his body and starts to sway around Daryl like the branches around the trunk of the willow tree. “How...how’s Judy?” he mumbles.

“She’s okay,” Daryl assures him. “Giggling and everything. Lori can’t figure out for the life of her what happened. They’re going to the mall soon. Lori’s going to let her play in the indoor kids section since it’s going to rain. Do you want to go?”

Rick shakes his head venomously. “ _No_ ,” he adds.

Daryl chews at his lip. “You want me to leave you alone?”

Rick stares at a spot on Daryl’s shoulder where his shirt meets his skin. “No,” he whispers.

Daryl nods and lifts his hand slightly, running it through Rick’s curls even though Rick is upside down. “Okay,” he says. “Then I think I know what might make you feel better.”

Rick furrows his brow and finally looks up at Daryl. The angel is staring down at him, but it’s not in a condescending or mocking manner like Rick thought it might be. It’s not a _look at you for being stupid over a baby nicking herself_ or _haha, look at the demon who’s attached to a kid_. Daryl’s eyes are open and honest like they always are and they make Rick feel both saturated in warmth and incredibly uncomfortable at the same time. “What?” he asks, curious.

Daryl smiles slowly and says with a gust of fake bravado. “Sex.”

Rick blinks. “Sex?” he asks and then laughs. “Yeah, that’d make me feel better. Thought that was off the table, though.”

Daryl shrugs and looks down at his toes. “I just...I kind of freaked out yesterday, yeah. But I could try it again.”

Rick’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he agrees instantly. “Okay. Here?”

Daryl blinks rapidly and Rick really wants to know if he’s blushing. “Cloud?”

Rick narrows his eyes. “Are you going to vault me off of it again?”

Daryl snorts. “Are you going to be a douche again?”

Rick swings back just slightly. “Fair enough,” he says and then tightens his wings around Daryl’s back for a split second before opening them and flipping upside down, fading easily into his human attire as he hits the ground. “You tell me what you want, though,” Rick says, “and we’ll go as slow as we need to, baby.”

Daryl opens his mouth, but seems to think better of it. He snaps his lips closed and nods before turning on his heel and heading out into the hallway. Rick follows him a couple of steps behind, giving him space. They enter the guestroom and Rick is surprised to see that the cloud isn’t there, although he doesn’t know why he expected it to be. Of course Daryl conjures it when he’s using it and doesn’t just leave it hanging out in the void.

Daryl waves his hand and it appears above the bed as usual. He spreads it out and fluffs it and then with a swirl of his fingers, little cloud steps appear up to it. Daryl climbs on and then holds out his hand for Rick. Rick grins at him and uses the steps to hop up next to Daryl. As his toes leave each step, they disappear--little fogs blowing away.

Daryl looks at his spot on the wall and chews at his lip. Rick sits crosslegged across from him and waits. “Can we…” Daryl starts and then shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair.

“Yes,” Rick says and it’s not a question. Daryl looks at him. “Whatever it is, yes. You’re asking a demon about sex. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing that’s off the table.”

“Nothing except for--” Daryl cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Okay,” he says, determined. He nods to himself. “I want to watch you again.”

Rick arches an eyebrow. “Watch me?”

Daryl motions to Rick’s crotch. “Do those things. To yourself.”

“Jack it?” Rick clarifies.

Daryl rolls his eyes. “Yes. Jack it.”

Rick shrugs and goes for his belt buckle. “Fine by me,” he says, whipping his pants open.

“Don’t go too fast,” Daryl tells him. “I want to…”

“Want to what?” Rick asks with a frown, his hand already halfway in his waistband.

Daryl sighs. “ _Enjoy_ it.”

Rick smiles, slow and steady. “Okay,” he purrs and removes his hand entirely from himself. “Why don’t you direct me, then. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“W-what? I can’t... _say_...those things.”

“Yes, you can,” Rick says with a chuckle. “If you want to watch me, tell me what you want to watch.”

Daryl shakes his head. “I shouldn’t even be _doing_ this. I am the worst angel in the history of the Halo Convention. Shit. Okay.” Daryl puts his head in his hands and sighs and then releases a frustrated grunt in a puff of air. “Take off your shirt,” Daryl says and peeks through his fingers at Rick.

Rick smiles and shrugs. “Okay,” he says and starts working on the snaps one at a time, flicking them with deft finger movements so they fly open one by one by one by one. Daryl removes his hands from his face slowly, watching Rick with all the focus he can muster. Rick’s jeans already feel smaller. “Do you want to touch?” he asks Daryl.

Daryl shakes his head. “Not...now. I just want to…” he swallows, “see.”

Rick nods and unsnaps the last button, sliding the shirt off his shoulders and depositing it on the floor. “What now?” he purrs.

Daryl rakes his eyes over Rick’s body and gestures to his hand. “Bracelets.”

Rick nods and takes them off, throws them with the shirt. “Boots.” They follow. “Socks.” Again. Daryl swallows. “Pants,” he says.

Rick moves himself into a kneeling position, sitting up on his knees so he has better access to remove his clothing. His belt is already undone and his fly pulled down, so it’s easy to hook his fingers into the waistband and push everything lower all at once. Daryl watches his crotch with wide, open eyes and his attention turns Rick on even more. Rick carefully pulls the fabric over his cock and when it springs out, Daryl gives a little grunt of approval. Rick smiles and lifts one leg to remove the clothing, then the second. He tosses it to the side and kneels there in full glory in front of Daryl. “Alright, baby,” Rick whispers, “now what?”

Daryl scans over Rick’s body, drinking him in and Rick’s chest lifts and rises as his breathing deepens. He knows that he’s getting harder by the second and he watches Daryl watch him as he does. Daryl licks his lips and Rick wants to throw himself at Daryl’s feet and beg him for touch. But _slow_ , Rick tells himself. Slow, slow, slow.

Eventually, Daryl’s gaze is able to rip itself away. He blinks and lifts his eyes to Rick’s. “Lay down,” he tells Rick. “On your back.”

Rick obliges him, falling back onto the cloud and spreading his legs apart so that Daryl can really see. Daryl is still sitting crosslegged at Rick’s feet, in the perfect position to watch what is happening to his cock. “Touch it,” Daryl says breathlessly, his eyes glued to Rick’s groin.

Rick grunts and reaches down slowly, sliding his hand across his chest and stomach to run along his hip before dipping to grab the base of his own cock. “Like this?” he asks and Daryl nods.

“M-move it,” Daryl says, his fingers twitching on his knees, “your hand. Move it.”

Rick nods and then gives himself a slow and luxurious stroke. “You c-can…” Daryl stops and clears his throat. He waves. “With the bottle. If you want.”

Rick strokes himself again, letting his hand slide slowly up and down his member and then conjures the bottle from midair, slicking up his hand for himself. He goes back to it. “Keep going,” Rick purrs. “Keep telling me what to do.”

Daryl bites his lip, but snaps his gaze down to Rick’s cock. “Touch the...the top of it.”

“The head,” Rick corrects and does so, sliding his thumb over the slit.

“And back down.”

Rick obeys.

“Up.” He moves his hand up. “Down.” Down. He bites his own lip and squirms, spreading his legs further apart. He watches Daryl as he works, fascinated by the attention Daryl is giving him. Rick can tell that there’s nothing in the room right now for Daryl except for him and the movement of his hand on his own dick. Daryl is intently centered on the rhythm and the motion, his eyes open and staring freely. It’s more than just lust. In fact, it might not even be as much lust as is it curiosity and exploration. Daryl wants just what he said he wanted--to watch. And Rick is happy to give that to him.

And then Daryl starts to move. Rick grunts and a spike of adrenaline hits his system. Is Daryl going to touch him? His cock twitches at the thought. But Daryl doesn’t, as least not yet. He sits up on his knees and stares down at Rick’s groin before he must realize that Rick is furrowing his brow at him. He blinks rapidly. “Sorry, I just...wanted a better view.”

Rick chuckles and reaches down with his free hand to fondle his balls while he strokes. “That’s fine,” he grates out. “Get whatever view you want.”

Daryl takes that as permission and comes further, leaning over Rick with his head cast down toward Rick’s cock that is straining up. “You can touch,” he tells Daryl.

Daryl flickers his eyes up to Rick’s face and then down and then slowly back up. His eyes pour over Rick’s body like caramel poured over an apple, making Rick feel hot and sweet and sticky. Daryl reaches slowly, his hand arching through the air and Rick’s not sure at all where he’s going to put it, but then Daryl touches his face, feather light. He leans up and over Rick and even though their bodies aren’t touching, he’s practically straddling him.

Daryl slides a hand into Rick’s hair and hmms to himself as his fingers dig into the curls. Rick feels his ring finger bump against the horn buds hidden in the throws of his locks and Daryl grunts. “What’s that?” he whispers.

Rick laughs at his innocent question and it suddenly doesn’t feel like the afternoon anymore, but that deep, sacred time in the middle of the night in which all bets are off and every single second vibrates with intimacy. He tells himself that this is a bad idea to keep going, but he can’t stop himself. Rick is sugar and Daryl is water and Rick is melting in him.

“They’re my horns,” he whispers back. “I like to have them with me.”

Daryl chuckles back at him and leans up to look at Rick’s head, bringing his chest even with Rick’s. Rick studies the shirt in front of him and wishes it was skin. “Do you want to be naked, too?” he asks softly.

Daryl arches and looks down at him from where he’s fingering the buds in Rick’s hair. “Would that be...good?” he asks.

Rick nods. “It would help me. I like to think about you.” He gives himself a long and thorough stroke when Daryl snaps his eyes down to Rick’s groin again.

“O-okay,” Daryl says and sits back up to start taking his clothes off. Rick watches him as he does so, piece by piece being shed slowly. Rick rakes his eyes over Daryl’s chest, his arms, his hips and his legs as they all come free. He bites his lip and feels himself getting closer and closer.

And then Daryl is back, leaning again in that same way, not touching, but over him still. Rick swallows his heartbeat back down into his ribcage. “Change,” Daryl tells him and Rick blinks.

“What?” he asks.

“Change,” Daryl says and puts his hand softly on Rick’s chest. “This isn’t you. Is it?” Rick stares at him and then slowly shakes his head. “So change. I want to...I want to see _you_.”

Rick nods and then, in a smooth motion like the flowing of a river into the ocean, ripples out. His wings stretch to his sides and flutter once before laying on the cloud and his tail unfurls from his body, twitching like a cat’s in his agitated state.

Rick arches his head back and closes his eyes for a brief second, reveling in the feel of his true body and when he opens his eyes again, Daryl is over him and it’s _Daryl_ , his large wings folded on his back and his halo glistening above him. Rick gasps despite himself. “You...you said I could touch?” Daryl asks and Rick nods quickly.

“Yes,” he breathes. “As much as you want.”

Daryl grunts and dances his eyes over Rick’s body again and when he does touch, he starts at the top. He curls his finger gently around the tip of Rick’s gazelle-like horns and then runs his hand down over the smooth, hollow bone. He gets to Rick’s hair and circles where the horn meets the skull with his thumb and then flickers his fingers down across Rick’s jawline and his neck. Rick isn’t even stroking himself anymore. He can’t or he’ll be done in two seconds. Daryl’s gaze is drinking him in like water and the _intensity_ with which Daryl is touching him--softly, _reverently_ \--is about to make Rick go insane. His tail flicks harder to compensate.

Daryl’s hand goes over his chest quickly and then to his wing. Daryl lets his fingers skip over the leather and catch on the bone that holds the wings together and Rick gasps as his wings try to fly up into Daryl’s hand. Daryl laughs innocently. “Is this still okay?” he asks and Rick nods, unable to keep his eyes from Daryl’s face.

Daryl touches his side now and runs his hands down to pause at Rick’s hipbone, studying the curve of it. He doesn’t touch Rick’s cock, which is a good thing because if he did, this would all be over. But he does reach forward and take Rick’s tail in his hand, creates a fist around it and pulls, moving his hand up to the spade in a mockery of the way Rick’s hands were moving on himself.

Rick’s tail curls involuntarily around Daryl’s hand and squeezes. Daryl smiles and brings the spade to his lips, kisses it with that same reverent touch he’s been touching all of Rick’s body. “This is like a hand, huh?” he asks and cups the tail.

Rick nods. “Can do pretty much all of the same things.”

Daryl hums and then releases it, watches it fall to the cloud and start flicking again. “Can you jack yourself with it?”

Rick nearly chokes on his own spit. “ _What_?”

Daryl blushes. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “Is that offensive? Can you not? I didn’t mean--”

“Shut up,” Rick says and then takes a deep breath and thinks about anything he can muster that will bring him back from the brink. Slug trails. Moldy bread. Dirty ovens. Once he’s okay again, he lets his breath out slowly. Daryl is still hovering above him, waiting. “Sure,” Rick says and lifts his tail, wrapping it around himself and removing his hands from the picture, “I can jack myself with it.”

Daryl smiles, a full and bright motion that cascades over his face like a sunrise. He watches as Rick moves the tail up and down and takes the spade tip and rubs the slit. Rick moans and doesn’t let himself cut it off, lets it be loud and forceful, lets Daryl know exactly how he feels.

“How does it finish?” Daryl asks and Rick laughs.

“Oh, baby, you’ll see,” Rick says and blinks at him. “I’m close.”

Daryl nods, his own breath hitching and Rick slides his gaze down to see him fully erect. “There’s something I want to do,” Daryl says.

“Okay,” Rick whispers, “anything.”

Daryl leans forward again, but this time his thighs come down on either side of Rick’s and Rick moans at the contact. Daryl takes his hands and slides them into both of Rick’s palms, threading their fingers together above Rick's head. He presses Rick’s hands down into the cloud, holding him there and then leans forward, touching his forehead against Rick’s. “I want to be close to you,” he whispers, just a little breath between them, “when it happens.”

Rick groans and strokes himself faster. “Yes,” he whispers back, “I want that, too.”

Daryl tilts his head so that he can both keep his forehead pressed to Rick’s and see down Rick’s body. “Okay,” Daryl says, “ _finish_.”

Rick opens his mouth and gasps, arching his body up and moving his tail lightning fast on himself. Daryl squeezes his palms and Rick’s fingers tangle in Daryl’s so thoroughly he’s not sure if he’s going to be able to get them back out. Rick’s wings flap of their own accord, sticking themselves to Daryl’s side like sticky flytrap paper and Daryl’s own unfold and drape over both of them to cover them in close shadows.

“ _Daryl_ ,” Rick breathes up into him and Daryl’s eyes fly to his own, blue for blue for startling blue. Rick loses it, his body hitching and his hips bucking upward. Daryl shoots his gaze downward and gasps as he watches Rick come, studying the white that coats Rick’s tail and stomach with fascination.

Rick’s body ripples with one of the most powerful orgasms he’s ever had and his mind goes fuzzy and blank for a moment. Daryl stays over him and waits until the last shudder has left Rick and then he slowly folds his wings back up to his back and removes his hands from Rick’s. Rick grunts at the lack of contact, but smiles as Daryl sits back on his knees.

Daryl’s eyes won’t leave Rick’s come and Rick snorts. He reaches down and swipes a finger across his own stomach and brings it to his lips, sucking it in. Daryl’s eyes widen and Rick chuckles.

And then Daryl does the damndest thing. He picks up Rick’s tail again, which curls itself to Daryl like it’s trying to find a new owner, and he pulls it toward his lips and before Rick can even wonder _what if_ , he’s got the tip of the spade in his mouth and he’s licking it clean. Rick’s eyes nearly pop out of his head and if he could get it up again, _oh if he could_ , he would.

Daryl smiles. “Doesn’t taste like I thought it would,” he says and plays with Rick’s tail. “Like it, though.”

Rick laughs and lays there on the cloud bonelessly. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he says.

Daryl’s eyes sparkle. “Really? Why?”

“Because,” Rick says and sits up with a smile, “I have never come that hard just from a damn _hand_.”

Daryl laughs. “Well, what else would you come from?” he says and Rick blinks to give himself a second. Surely Daryl doesn’t…

“What do you mean?” Rick asks.

Daryl shrugs, ducking his head and staring at his spot on the wall while he cuddles Rick’s tail. “I mean...this _was_ sex...wasn’t it?”

Rick bites his lip and tells himself _do not laugh at him._ “Well, it’s a kind of sex.”

Daryl grunts and still won’t meet Rick’s eyes. “What other kind of sex is there?”

The corners of Rick’s lips curl up. “You mean you don’t know _anything_ about sex? Surely you know at least where babies come from.”

Daryl gives him the biggest eye roll known to man. “ _Yes, I know where babies come from_. I just...know it in an abstract sense.” He frowns to himself. “A girl and a dude do...something. And then...there’s pregnancy and shit. _Shut up_. _I can tell you’re laughing at me_.”

Rick snorts, but scoots forward, settling himself nicely in Daryl’s lap. He puts his fingers under Daryl’s chin and tilts his face up so Daryl will look at him. “Usually a cock goes in somewhere,” he informs the angel. “You know, an _orifice_. Like I did with my tail when you saw me the first time. That’s when it feels best. When it’s hot and wet and _tight_.” He shivers and then grins. “We could try it. If you wanted to be in me. You’re hard,” Rick breathes, biting his lip. “You could fuck me.”

But Daryl shakes his head. “No, I, uh...I don’t want to freak out,” he says and puts his hands on Rick’s hips. “But I’m a little...overwhelmed at the moment. I think this is all I want to do. Today.”

Rick nods slowly and starts playing with Daryl’s hair. “Do you want me to touch you? Finish you?”

Daryl shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly and Rick nods, respecting that.

“Okay,” he says. “Can I make one request, though?”

Daryl arches an eyebrow and waits. Rick smiles. “Don’t touch yourself without me.” He massages Daryl’s scalp and revels in how Daryl’s head tilts back into his hand. “I want to be with you,” Rick says, “the first time that you come. I want to see what your face looks like. I want to be _a part of it_.”

Daryl falters, but he nods thoroughly. “I’ll...I’ll wait for you,” he says and Rick smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [Undisclosed Desires by Muse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8OOWcsFj0U)


	10. Fire Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a special chapter in honor of the new season starting up! I hope you enjoy and thank you all for the lovely comments you've been leaving!

Rick sleeps in the attic. It’s a good place for a batlike being, he thinks, and after the morning...well, he’s not ready to see Judith yet. He knows he’s being silly, that the cut really was just an average injury, that there wasn’t anything particularly special about the incident, but he can’t shake the way it makes him feel deep down in the hollow of his demon bones.

So he stays away. He doesn’t want to sleep in the guestroom with Daryl--he wants to give him his space--and he doesn’t want to worry about bumping into Lori in the living room or the kitchen. So the attic is fine. Even if there _is_ a mouse family making its home in the corner.

Rick settles in and tries to sleep, but the whole night is fitful. Some of it has to do with Judith, but a lot of it has to do with flashes of memory that Rick still tries to convince himself are just exaggerated nightmares, but knows in his heart are true, hard facts. So when the morning light starts slanting through the window, Rick is already mostly up, grumpy, and not in the mood for any shenanigans.

He decides in one swift burst of thought that he’s going to leave. He needs some time off, just a quick afternoon away. And, his treacherous mind tells him, he better do it before Daryl wakes up because one look into those ocean depth eyes will leave Rick frozen in his tracks like a vulture in the middle of winter.

So Rick shimmies out into the living room and flaps toward the front door, but he doesn’t quite make it. “Where are you going?” Daryl asks from behind him.

Rick drops to the ground and looks over. The angel is still an angel in appearance and a sleepy one at that. He’s rubbing at his left eye and he stifles a yawn as he glances in Rick’s direction. Rick flutters his wings uselessly as he stands there. “Out,” he says.

Daryl frowns. “Judith and Lori are going to the museum this morning, if you just need to get out of the house and--”

“No,” Rick says with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to go with them.”

Daryl’s frown deepens and he shuffles his feet. “So where are you--”

“Hell,” Rick snaps, “want to come with?” and then feels instant regret that he’s taking out his bad mood on Daryl.

Daryl blinks and drops his hand from his face. He folds his wings tight across his back and suddenly looks small. “...I was bad,” he says.

It takes Rick a minute to catch on. “...huh?”

“Yesterday,” Daryl says and heaves his chest in a sigh. “Fuck. I knew I would be. I’m not...that’s not...my strong suit. Obviously. I’m sorry.”

Rick stares at him in shock. “You think you’re bad at _sex_?”

Daryl shrugs and toes the carpet. “Why else are you leaving?”

Rick slumps his shoulders and sighs before walking across the living room to Daryl. He slides up to him easily, running his hands over Daryl’s arms until he gets to his shoulders. “You weren’t bad. You were perfect. I just...I need to go. For me.”

“Are you going to come back?” Daryl asks and Rick wonders if he’s just imagining the underlying hint of sadness in Daryl’s voice.

Rick nods. “Yeah. I’ll be back by dark.”

Daryl bites his lip and then rocks forward on his heels into Rick’s chest, but before he quite makes it, he rocks back. “Okay. I’ll...I’ll wait for you,” Daryl says.

Rick pauses just an extra beat to see if Daryl has anything else to say, but Daryl curves his head to stare at the armrest of the sofa, so Rick just nods a second time and heads for the door.

***

There are plenty of ways to get to Hell, but only a few ways out, which means it’s easy for Rick to dive down through the sewers of the inner city, but he’ll have to leave plenty of time to navigate the Screaming Lava Ruins of Let’s-Get-the-Hell-Out-of-Hell that will be his way back up.

Hell hasn’t changed much since he left, not that he expected it to. Carol is very traditional in what she likes. Does it have blood? Does it have fire? Does it have desperation and destruction? Then why redecorate?

He flies low over the burning ground, brushing the tips of ash trees with his tail and watching them crumble into bits. He folds his wings and speeds up like a bullet toward the center of the whole entire land--Carol’s looming, dark castle with the sharpest spikes in existence.

Inside, Carol is playing her favorite game-- _Body Parts_. She has a man in a cage in front of her and with one quick glance, Rick can tell it’s one of Carol’s favorites, Philip Blake, and that she has his eyeballs in the palm of her hand, rolling them around while he screeches something about his old town of Woodbury.

Rick can’t really feel any sympathies for him. He’s one of the few people that Michonne has shot straight down to the firepit herself after his incident with Andrea. And really, if he didn’t want to be tortured for the rest of eternity, he probably shouldn’t have tried to fuck around with God’s little favorite.

Rick hits the floor in a tumble, cartwheeling up to her and trying to act his damndest so she’ll pay attention to him. “DEVIL WOMAN!” he screeches when he comes to a stop, but Carol barely slides her gaze to him.

“Rick,” she says, her voice dripping with boredom. Rick collapses at her feet. “What are you doing here?”

Rick looks up at her and swishes his tail. “I missed you _so, so much_ ,” he tries, but she just smacks him on the head.

“You’re supposed to be watching the prodigy.”

Rick shrugs and stares at the empty eyes of Philip Blake. “ _Was_ watching her. Things got messy.”

Carol grins, showing her teeth. “ _Good_ messy?”

“Bad messy,” he says, pulling his knees up and letting his arms dangle off of them. “There’s an angel--”

“Well, of course there is.”

“--and he gets in the way sometimes.”

Carol shrugs and starts juggling Philip’s eyes before she decides she needs more. She reaches over and plucks a set from a second man in a cage. “You can handle that.”

“And the _girl_.”

“What about the girl?”

“She’s bad.”

“Excellent.”

“Mean.”

“Perfect.”

“Has potential.”

“Of course she does.”

“She’s my little monster.”

Carol drops the eyeballs and swings her head to Rick, glaring. “ _What_ did you say?”

“Nothing!” Rick is quick to stammer and then jumps in the air, feeling like he should be flying for this.

“Is that emotion I hear in your voice?” Carol asks and then dips her tone down. When she speaks, the ground rumbles and Philip falls over against the bars of his cage. “ _Love_?”

“No,” Rick snaps off quickly.

“Good,” Carol says and points to him, “because if I find out that you love this girl, I will rip your wings off like I do to all the damn house sparrows in my sewers. You got me?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Rick says with a salute.

“You are a demon,” Carol reminds him. “And demons do not _love_.”

“...right,” Rick says, keeping his voice from cracking and belying how unsure he is.

Carol studies him from head-to-toe and then scoffs. With a wave of her hand, she sends him flying back toward the door in a fit of wind. “Go away,” she says and Rick beats his wings against the oncoming tornado to steady himself before letting it take him out of the castle. So much for that.

When the winds die down and he can finally start flying right, he pauses and scans over the length of Hell. Here on the top, in the first circle, everything is flat except for the spires that arch up. There are no hills and only one lava river to speak of that keeps spiraling from the center to the outside edges. He scans over the land and then starts flying again, to the south. Out on the periphery is a little puddle of lava that he knows well, nestled in between three spires, and the sight of it--the sight of _home_ \--will help calm him down, he’s sure. And help beat out whatever he’s feeling beginning to stir deep within his nerve-endings.

Because Carol is right. He is a demon. And demons don’t cuddle babies. They don’t give them endearments. They don’t steal candy for them. They don’t hold them tight while they’re hurt and hope against hope that everything will be okay. Rick folds his wings to his side and drops like a rock. He catches himself right before the ground and spreads them out again to coast while he thinks. What is he doing? Carol sent him to Earth to teach Judith to be evil, not to teach Rick how to love (and lose) again. He needs to distance himself from her. He needs time to center himself, to get back to being black hearted. And he can’t do that up there right now. Not with Judith and not with...Daryl.

Rick doesn’t even want to think about Daryl. And the way that Daryl makes him feel. He sighs to himself and keeps flying to his spot.

He gets halfway there before a force of pure rage slams into his side and sends him spiraling. He tumbles over and catches himself, spins around to see who had hit him and comes face-to-face with Maggie, hovering in the air with her gigantic black wings. She arches an eyebrow and crosses her arms. “Hey, _fucker_ ,” she says with a glare.

Rick rolls his eyes and lands on a nearby spire. Maggie keeps glaring, her spine straight and her wings keeping her centered. Her horns curve around the back of her head like sheep horns instead of Rick’s arched ones and she’s blackened from head-to-toe because of course she is. If Merle was Daryl’s first, then she is Rick’s. His own personal regret.

“Hey, Mags,” he says and brushes himself off. “Funny finding you here.”

Maggie scoffs. “Heard you were up on Earth, but I knew you were going to fuck it up.”

Rick glares. “I haven’t _fucked it up_ ,” he says and starts brushing ash off himself from where it’s landed all over him. “I am taking a break for a second.”

“Lazy little shit,” she says and does a flip in the air.

“What do you want?” Rick asks, sighing.

“To make your life a living hell,” Maggie answers easily. “So let’s talk about how you’re a screw-up.”

Rick glares. “Not in the mood,” he says and takes a flying leap off his spire, heading back the way he had come. The pool isn’t worth it if Maggie’s going to follow him there. Maggie soars ahead of him, her wings carrying her a greater distance than Rick’s small and agile ones.

“Carol said to watch you,” Maggie tells him with a sidelong glance. “Said you were just at the castle and you were talking about the L word.”

“Fuck you,” Rick says and beats his wings to get ahead of her. “I’m fine.”

“Carol has plans for that little girl.”

“I know.”

“She’s going to be the bringer of the endtimes.”

“I know.”

“She’s not going to be the bringer of _love_ to _poor Richard--_ ”

“I know!” Rick growls and turns quickly to slam his body into hers. She goes tumbling for a few feet before she catches herself. “Step off. I’ve got it.”

Maggie glares. “You’ve _got_ an angel up there, too. What are you doing with him?”

“Existing,” Rick says with a hiss and keeps on flying toward the exit.

“Uh huh,” Maggie says and flies to catch up, “how handsome is the little shit? What does this _existing_ consist of?”

“It consists of you minding your own business,” Rick tells her. Maggie tries to slam into him again, but Rick spins lightning quick away from her. “Look,” he says and glares, “stay out of my way or I’m going to turn you into a fresh pile of ash.”

“ _Try it,_ ” Maggie growls.

Rick faces her slowly and stretches his spine out. They’re not that far from the same size, him and Maggie, but he’s got years on her and more than that, _power_. “I made you,” he says, letting his voice echo quietly through the fire in the air.

Maggie glares, but in the end, it’s her that looks away. She huffs. “You better watch yourself,” she tells him and Rick doesn’t give her the benefit of saying anything else. She knows. He knows. Maggie looks at him once more and then in a huff, she turns and starts flying away, fast toward the east. Rick watches until he can’t see the black speck on the horizon anymore and then turns, flying slowly upwards, toward Earth.

***

Rick crawls from the gutter and collapses on the sidewalk, slime and ash and brimstone clinging to his skin. Beneath him, Hell growls and he flops over on his back, exhausted from the journey. He blinks and looks around, sees that the streetlights have all popped on and it’s a lot later than he expected to be back. He sighs and lays there for a minute, basking in the cool concrete under his back and the feeling of _Earth_.

But eventually, even though he’s exhausted, he has to stand. He shakes himself out and then spins himself clean and into his human attire before checking the time-- _1:24 AM. Carol._ \--and jogging to the house in the suburbs. He figures he’ll sleep in the attic again tonight and maybe even make that his permanent roost. In the morning, he’ll talk to Daryl, but he should probably keep it curt, try to add some space between them so things aren’t complicated. He knows that if Maggie or any of the other demons try to come and take this job from him, he can kick their asses, but it would be a lot less trouble if he didn’t have to. So he needs to be perfect at this. And perfect, Carol said, does not involve emotion.

But for all of Rick’s well laid plans, there is one thing that he didn’t count on. And that’s Daryl. Sitting on the steps outside the house. Downcast.

Rick stops in his tracks and stares. Daryl’s head is hanging low and he hasn’t seen Rick yet and a part of Rick wants to melt in the shadows and beat it to somewhere safe. But he’s sure that he...yes, Daryl is upset. His shoulders are tucked down and his hands are rubbing at his forehead and even his hair looks sad, hanging loose and limp around his face.

Daryl sighs, a sound that wipes all the air from his lungs in a gust of frustration or worry or Rick’s not really sure what. He throws his hands down to his knees and mumbles to himself. Rick frowns and his body turns sideways, unsure of whether to go forward or back. And then Daryl starts to stand up, moving his legs and arms into position to lift himself. “Stupid,” Rick hears. “You’re so _stupid_. Of course demons _lie_.”

Rick blinks. Demons? Lie? Is Daryl talking about...him? Is Daryl thinking about _him_? Rick swallows hard and then slowly steps forward, clicking his heels loudly against the driveway. He melts from the shadows and Daryl’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with an emotion that Rick can’t define, but that floors him nonetheless.

“Rick?” Daryl asks, his voice both hopeful and desperate as he stands from the steps.

Rick grunts and is suddenly massively uncomfortable with this situation. He doesn’t know what to do with _sadness_ , with _hopeful_. And why the hell is Daryl upset anyway? “Hey,” Rick says and recognizes that that’s lame.

Daryl lets a breath go and Rick doesn’t know how to interpret it. And then, with one large sudden step, Daryl is...hugging him. Rick freezes, but Daryl just keeps on holding. “You came back,” he whispers into Rick’s hair.

Rick grunts again. “Sure,” he says. “Said I would.”

“You said _by dark_ ,” Daryl says and releases him, glaring. “It’s fucking two in the morning.”

Rick blinks at Daryl’s use of language and then just shrugs weakly. “Only one thirty,” he says.

Daryl rolls his eyes and then reaches up to run his hand through his hair. “ _Fuck. You_.”

Rick frowns. “I don’t--”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Daryl snarls. “I was _worried_.”

Rick shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Was just in Hell.”

“In Hell,” Daryl repeats. “You ran away after…” He trails off and shakes his head with a scoff. “You’re a _dick_.”

Rick frowns, trying to catch up, but feeling hopelessly lost. “Look, I don’t...I don’t get why you’re upset.”

Daryl glares. “We had sex and then you ran off and tried not to tell me about it.”

Rick screws up his forehead and tries to figure out how that’s a bad thing. “But I told you it wasn’t because you were bad?”

“Well,” Daryl says and crosses his arms, “you said it with that _tone_. Like you were just...trying to make me feel better. ….I thought you were lying to me. I thought you had left and I had failed you ag--whatever.” He shakes his head. “You’re fine? You’re okay?”

Rick shrugs. “Yeah?”

“Good,” Daryl says with a curt nod. “Goodnight.” He turns to walk back inside the house, but Rick just can’t help himself. He reaches out and grabs Daryl’s arm and stops him from walking.

“Wait. You were _worried_ about me?”

Daryl grunts.

Rick furrows his brow. “Why were you worried about me?”

“Because I _missed_ you, you fucking idiot,” Daryl says with a growl and looks up. Their eyes fall together like newly mixed snow and Rick suddenly can’t look away. Daryl’s gaze is stormy and _alive_ , all echoing emotion. There’s nothing hollow about him, nothing insincere, and Rick catches himself falling into a reflection that’s far more important than any mirror in a dead guy’s apartment. In the back of his mind he recognizes that this kind of reciprocation isn’t physical, isn’t looks or lust or any of that. It’s something else, something bubbling and singing. Rick blinks and he’s floored.

Which is probably why he doesn’t stop Daryl when Daryl takes that step forward and cups the back of his neck so adoringly, pulling them together. Rick blinks and his eyes close automatically as Daryl’s lips meet his. _No,_ he thinks to himself, _this is going to get you in trouble_ , but Daryl is right there and warm and safe. Rick gasps unintentionally and Daryl takes advantage of it, diving into Rick’s mouth with _purpose_ and Rick’s mind finally, _finally_ catches up to his body and he realizes that they’re _kissing_.

Daryl tugs Rick to him and Rick falls against his chest, surrounded in arms that feel like brick walls enclosing him in a secure space. Daryl lips against his are warm and soft, his hands gentle and guiding. He kisses Rick freely and holds nothing back and Rick feels his knees weak and his head fuzzy. “ _Daryl_ ,” someone says and Rick realizes it’s _him_ , that he whispered Daryl’s name to the night air and Rick can _feel_ Daryl smile as he comes back in for a second kiss. They turn slowly and Daryl pushes Rick up against the wall of the house, plasters his front to Rick’s. Rick falls into his mouth easily again and then his hands get involved, tangling in Daryl’s hair and Daryl’s heat and Daryl’s comfort.

“You fucking _idiot_ ,” Daryl whispers, “I missed you so much.” He kisses him again, hard and wanting and Rick slides his hands up Daryl’s back to hold him close.

“I missed you, too,” he says and knows that he means it.

“I thought,” Daryl says and then pauses to kiss again, “that you hated me. That you didn’t like...last night. I was so worried I’d never see you again--”

“I’m right here,” Rick whispers and knows that he _wants to be_. He opens his eyes and finds Daryl looking at him and they pause, breathing heavily and just staring at one another. Rick swallows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t...whatever. I didn’t mean it.”

Daryl nods. “I know,” he says. “But you’re staying?”

“Yeah,” Rick says and swallows. “Yeah, I’m staying.”

Daryl smiles, slow and brilliant. He runs his fingers into Rick’s hair and bumps them over Rick’s horn buds. “Can I kiss you again?”

Kiss? _Kiss_? Rick’s mind suddenly explodes back into reality. _Demons don’t kiss_ , he tells himself. Not like this, they don’t. He shakes his head quickly and then breaks away from Daryl, spinning himself away from the wall. “I…” he starts, but what is he going to say? Daryl should know this, dammit. Rick’s a demon, not some damn teenage human. He’s...fuck, it doesn’t matter. Rick’s had a long, _long_ day and he just wants to roost. He shakes his head again. “Goodnight,” he says, quickly. “See you in the morning.” And then he flees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [Baby Be Mine by The Parlotones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbiAeljz2b0)


	11. The Briefest Moment of Freedom

Rick barely gets any time to settle into his affairs the next day because before ten a.m. Daryl is shoving him out the front door so they can follow Lori and Judith to the car. Lori sets down all the various things she’s carrying so she can open the backseat to start rearranging and Rick thinks that’s a perfectly acceptable time to dig his heels in.

“Stop pushing me,” he complains and flaps his wings in Daryl’s face.

Daryl grunts and shoves at him, but Rick is pretending to be a boulder and stands his ground. “We are _going with them_ ,” Daryl says sternly.

Rick lifts his chin up to the sky in defiance. “No,” he says, eloquently.

“ _Yes_ ,” Daryl growls.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“ _Son of a bitch, Rick, yes_ ,” Daryl says and with a powerful shove, pushes Rick into taking one more step. “You can’t just _avoid_ Judith forever. And she’ll be over at her dad’s all day long and I’m not letting you weasel your way out of this just because your little demon feelings are bruised.”

Rick squeaks and when Daryl tries to push him again, he flies quickly up into the air and watches as Daryl stumbles a couple of steps down the driveway to steady himself from where Rick unbalanced him. Daryl glares up into the air. “I _will_ come up there and get you.”

Rick crosses his arms and his legs, sitting in midair. He sticks his tongue out.

With a roar, Daryl leaps into the air and comes after him. Rick makes an undignified snorting sound and untangles himself, diving quickly away and just missing Daryl’s attack by a few scant inches. Daryl flies at him with his wide and powerful wings, eclipsing the sky around Rick, but Rick is quick and fast and darts up and away, flying over the roof.

Daryl plows after him and they dive and weave and circle around the backyard and through the bushes until Rick gets to the willow tree and dives into it, knowing that Daryl’s wings are too large and cumbersome to navigate branches. He sticks his head out from between two dips of leaves and snickers at Daryl, who is beating his wings as he hovers and looking livid. “Come here,” he tells Rick.

Rick crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out. “Nope,” he says and dives back into the tree, scaling it and finding a good hiding spot. This will do for the day, he thinks, and flops himself back against a branch to settle himself in. But then, all of a sudden, tendrils of clouds snap over his body like rope and he’s being pulled out into the backyard again. A branch smacks his face and leaves flutter around him and he’s deposited ungracefully into…

_Fuck_. Rick glowers. “Are these _cloud bars_?” he asks.

“ _Yep_ ,” Daryl says and then grabs what Rick sees is a chain leading out from the cage. Daryl pulls and the cage floats after him, as light as air even though it feels like pure steel to Rick. Rick crosses his arms.

“ _Unfair_ ,” he growls. “You can’t just _cage me_.”

“Well,” Daryl says, refusing to look back at him as he pulls the cage out to the front yard again, “you should stop being a pussy.”

Rick balks. “I am not a--”

“Pussies should stop talking,” Daryl says and gets around to the front. By now, the car is gone and Rick smiles to himself that Daryl’s chances have been lost, but he must know where he’s going because with a glance around the neighborhood he flips his wrist and a motorcycle appears on the curb. Rick watches as his body shimmers just slightly and he realizes belatedly that Daryl has just flickered into letting the whole world see him.

Daryl attaches the cloud chain to the back of the motorcycle and climbs on, starting the vehicle up and pulling out onto the road. The sudden movement causes Rick to smack into the back bars and he frowns to himself as he’s pulled along, Daryl looking for all the world like a normal biker and not a kidnapper dragging a demon behind him like a trail of bad luck.

***

Daryl parks the motorcycle in a city owned lot and kills the engine, shooting Rick a look over his shoulder through his sunglasses. Rick makes a face at him and turns his back on Daryl and soon feels the tug of the chain pulling the cage down to the ground. “Are you going to let me out?” Rick snaps, his arms crossed.

Daryl grunts. “You gonna keep being a little bitch?”

Rick makes a high pitched sound straight up through his nose and continues to stick it in the air. “I said I didn’t want to go. This is me not wanting to go.”

“Come on,” Daryl says, his voice dropping softer. “Judy needs you.”

Rick flicks his tail. “She does not.”

“She does. We’re going to see her daddy. She needs all the prayers in the world for that one.”

Rick pauses and turns slowly toward Daryl. “Is he...is he mean to her?”

Daryl shrugs and puts the sunglasses up on top of his head. “Ain’t really mean, per se. Just...distant. Little neglectful.”

Rick flicks his tail harder. “Why doesn’t he spend time with her?”

“Didn’t want a kid from what I gather,” Daryl says and reaches forward to wave the bars away. The cloud falls apart until it’s just the platform and Rick stands up and stretches his wings.

“Then why is she visiting?” Rick asks.

“Lori makes ‘em. Twice a month. But I’m sure he’s just going to sit in that chair of his and watch his Braves and not pay her one bit of mind. So she needs you. Come on.”

Rick sighs and jumps off the platform, landing easily on his feet and turning quickly into his human appearance. He watches as Daryl shimmers easily to hiding again, but still human, and they both head down the sidewalk. Rick sticks his hands far into his jean pockets and avoids Daryl’s gaze, but luckily Daryl seems to sense that now isn’t the time for conversation and they plod along quietly to a second floor apartment that’s decked out in what Rick can only describe as bachelor chic. There is baseball memorabilia and gun posters _everywhere_ and the whole place is an orangey kind of tan that no decorator in their right mind would pick. Rick wrinkles his nose at it.

Lori is standing in the center of the living room, holding a crying Judith in front of a buff black-haired man who’s relaxing in a recliner. They’re both frowning hard and Lori tries to shush the baby. Rick’s hackles rise and he narrows his gaze but stays behind Daryl, watching.

“What’s wrong with her?” Judith’s father, Shane, asks.

Lori bounces Judith on her hip and shakes her head. “I don’t know. She’s been like this all morning. She’s just in a foul mood.”

Shane grunts and holds out his hands. “Maybe she just wants her daddy.”

Rick starts pacing just slightly. Daryl slides his eyes over to him, but doesn’t say anything. Lori hands Judith over, who wails at the top of her lungs loud and shrill enough that Rick’s surprised there’s any glass left in the house. Shane takes the baby and holds her wrong. She doesn’t like to be held like that, Rick thinks. Support her back, man.

“Hey, kiddo,” Shane says and tries to rock her. “It’s Dad. Hey, there.”

Judith cries so loud she starts to spit up on herself and then with one rear-back she smacks Shane in the chest. Shane shakes his head. “Nope,” he says and hands her back to Lori. Lori rolls her eyes and cuddles Judith the right way, but it still doesn’t work. Rick can see tears and snot all over Judith’s face and she starts smacking at Lori just like Rick taught her.

Rick frowns. “She okay?” he asks Daryl and paces faster. “When she hit her head...it didn’t hurt her, did it?”

Daryl smiles softly and shakes his head. “No, she’s just cranky.”

Rick grunts. “Why?”

Daryl smiles knowingly and turns back to Lori and Shane. Lori shakes her head at the situation and starts walking into the back room. “I’m just going to put her down. Maybe some nice quiet time will relax her.”

Shane nods and cranes his neck to watch Lori disappear down the hallway. Rick walks to the edge and peers after her, but doesn’t follow. Daryl comes up beside him and softly puts his hand on Rick’s back. Rick jumps and then glares. “Don’t do that,” he says and bats his hand away.

“We can go check on her,” Daryl offers.

Rick huffs. “I don’t care,” he says and turns away, goes into Shane’s little kitchen and starts to scrape off the non-stick lining of his pans with his fingernails. Daryl follows him and leans on the counter, rolling his eyes when he sees Rick grab another pot.

“You’re full of shit,” Daryl says and arches an eyebrow in a challenge.

Rick sticks his tongue out at him again and goes back to the pot, drawing a tiny depiction of a ballsack on the side of it.

“You do care,” Daryl tells him and Rick shrugs, scrapes harder. “You’re worried about her.”

“This is stupid,” Rick says and looks around the kitchen for other stuff to mess with. He leans over the sink and flicks clogs down into it.

“It’s okay to be worried.” Rick frowns and cuts a rip in Shane’s potholder. “I mean, you’ve spent a lot of time with her.” He lets bugs in through the window. “You care about her.” He adds extra grease to the oven. “And that’s okay.” Puts a stain on the microwave door that won’t ever come off. “It’s natural.”

Rick mumbles something and Daryl leans forward to hear. “What was that?” Rick mumbles it again. “I can’t--”

“Fucker,” Rick says and then frowns. He sighs and turns to Daryl. “I don’t want to.”

“Don’t want to what?”

“Care.” Rick scrapes idly at the countertop.

Daryl smiles again. “Well, too bad. Because I think you do.”

Rick crosses his arms and pouts. “Why is she crying?”

Daryl quirks one corner of his mouth up.

“ _Tell me_ ,” Rick insists.

But Daryl doesn’t have to tell him. Because carrying through the hallway is Judith wailing again followed by the very distinctive sound of her yelling one single word. _“PUNCH!_ ” she screams into Shane’s apartment.

Rick blinks. Daryl smiles.

“She hasn’t slept in two days,” Daryl tells him and pushes himself off the counter. “I’ve tried to rock her, tried to help her with my powers, everything. But she doesn’t want me. Apparently she can’t sleep without holding onto a horn.”

Rick swallows and stares at Daryl. “Really?” he asks and then Judith is yelling again. _Punch, punch, punch, punch--_

“I don’t understand her at all,” Lori calls from the hallway and Shane grunts back.

“How in the world did you teach her _punch_?”

“I swear I didn’t,” Lori says and Rick hears her footsteps retreating back into the living room. He makes a dash for it, careering down the hallway and Daryl follows him, hanging back. Judith is in a crib in the corner, green this time instead of yellow. She’s laying on her back, but she’s hollering to high Heaven and she looks a complete mess.

Rick slides up to her side and starts cooing at her and, while she doesn’t stop, she at least quiets enough to pay attention to him. “Hey, Little Monster,” he coos and then, with one glance at the doorway to make sure Lori isn’t coming back, he scoops her up.

Judith cries in his arms and puts her little fists into his shirt, but she starts to calm down just the tiniest bit. “Change,” Daryl whispers from his post as outlook. Rick blinks, but does, shaking into his demon attire. When his wings come out and his horns are visible, Judith stops. She blinks her eyes once and stares at him and then reaches for his head. Rick sighs, but it’s a happy, conceding sound and he bends his head down so that Judith can wrap her snot-dribbled hand around his horn. She gurgles and Rick keeps watching as the rocking motion and the horn slowly, _slowly_ lull her to sleep.

Rick only barely registers that he’s smiling like a madman. “There you go, Little Monster,” he whispers to her. “You just go to sleep. There you go.” He glances over at Daryl. “She’s so tuckered,” he says and laughs breathlessly.

Daryl leans against the doorway and grunts back at Rick. “Sure is,” he says.

Rick walks toward him, being slow and careful about all of it, until he can stand next to Daryl and rock Judith at the same time. “I didn’t know…” He swallows and stares down at her closed eyes.

“Didn’t know what?” Daryl prompts. Rick blushes.

“...that she cared about me,” he says.

Daryl smiles and reaches for him, rubs his hand over Rick’s arm. “She does. I do, too.”

Rick blinks again, trying to clear something welling up in his heart. He stares down at Judith, who’s now out like a light, and then up at Daryl, who’s staring at him openly in what Rick can only call affection. Rick smiles back just the tiniest bit, but that one gesture feels like he’s just crossed a mountain, huge and wide and vast.

***

Lori leaves Judith with Shane for the day and Rick hovers over her like if he stands more than two feet away, she’ll explode. Daryl circles them, too, all three of them crowded into the little nursery and for the most part, Shane doesn’t show his face. Rick both hates him for it, because he should show more attention to his daughter, and is happy about it, because that means that Rick gets more time with Judith.

But either way, the day ends and Lori picks her up to drive them home. Rick walks out with Daryl, expecting a motorcycle to appear on the curb again, but instead, Daryl twists himself easily into his angel appearance. “Let’s fly,” he tells Rick and Rick blinks.

“Through the city?” he asks.

Daryl shrugs. “What? You can’t fly through the city?”

Rick huffs. “I can fly through the city better than you can with your big buzzard wings.”

“Hey,” Daryl says and pokes a finger into his chest, “these are for soaring, Mr. Hummingbird. Always fluttering about and _bothering_ everyone.”

“At least I’m fast,” Rick counters and with a flying leap, he jumps into the air, flapping hard up above the buildings.

Daryl follows him and he’s right, his wings are good for soaring. He bypasses Rick easily and once he’s up to the clouds, it takes Rick all he’s got to flap and keep up. Rick pants and wonders how he got to be so out of shape.

Daryl curves his wings into a V-formation so he can catch the breezes that flicker past and Rick frowns to himself, trying to stretch his wings out to be bigger, stronger, _lengthier_ , but that just makes him fall behind. With a huff of breath and a surge forward, he manages to catch Daryl’s ankle. Daryl grins and with a beat of his wings, he goes faster and Rick squeaks as Daryl jumps from his grip and he falls behind again.

Well, screw all of this, Rick thinks. He tumbles through the air and pushes himself just that extra inch...and then lands on Daryl’s back with a mighty thump. “ _Fucking shit!_ ” Daryl yells as Rick hits him. He flaps to stay upright and Rick drapes himself all over Daryl while Daryl is distracted. He crosses his arms over Daryl’s back and lays his chin on his hands and smiles to himself.

“This is better,” he says and snuggles in.

“Are you fucking _riding me_?” Daryl asks.

“Mm hmm,” Rick says, closing his eyes and letting the wind whip through his hair. “Your damn wings are big enough for the both of us.” He pokes Daryl in the small of the back. “You’re like a jetliner. Go, jetliner! Go.”

Rick can just _sense_ that Daryl is rolling his eyes. “Why am I letting you do this?” Daryl asks, but stretches his wings out. They catch an updraft and the two of them soar higher. Rick tilts his head into the sun and sighs happily.

Daryl evens out, his wings riding the air expertly. Rick can barely feel a single bump as they coast through the air going upward and upward and upward-- “Where are you going?” Rick asks, his eyes flying open.

“Heaven,” Daryl says curtly and then laughs when Rick starts panicking. “Not really,” he tells Rick. “Just going up above the clouds a bit. Thought we’d see the sights.”

Rick grumbles, but settles down and lets Daryl guide them up through the cover. Bits of cloud stick to Rick’s horns and Daryl’s halo and Rick grins, tilting his face into them. “This is what you do all the time, huh?” Rick asks and starts drawing circles lazily on Daryl’s shoulder.

Daryl chuckles. “Yeah. Angels and clouds. They kind of go together.”

Rick hmms to himself and start fiddling with the tips of Daryl’s hair. As they crest a cloud and break through into the sunlight, Rick ghosts his fingers over Daryl’s wing. He props his head on his hand and stares down at other things he can mess with and then sees in front of him the pretty little halo, tilted at an angle down to the right. Rick grabs it and pulls it to himself and giggles in happiness when it dings and comes loose from its orbit. “Hey!” Daryl says, but Rick is already playing with it, tossing his fingers around it and feeling it smooth like warm metal. He grins wickedly to himself and then he bites it. “OW!” Daryl yells and shakes himself. Rick grabs on, his ride suddenly bumpy and when Daryl lines himself out again, Rick puts the halo back, but tilts it left instead of right.

Daryl reaches up in annoyance and fixes it. Rick contemplates the etymology of the word cockring.

“You’re a nuisance,” Daryl tells Rick and Rick grunts in acknowledgement. He flips his foot up for dramatic effect and swishes his tail through the air.

“I’m a _demon_ ,” Rick reminds him.

“Do all demons get as bored as you do?”

Rick grunts. “No,” he says, “but it distracts me when I don’t want to think about things.”

“Hmm,” Daryl says and flaps once to bring them higher. “What things?”

“I’m bored,” Rick says and stretches out on Daryl’s back like a cat in the windowsill.

Daryl chuckles. “Okay,” he says and dips down through a cloud and then back up. Down again. Up. Rick’s eyes feel heavy and the sunlight is lulling him into a peaceful place.

“I like you,” Rick murmurs into Daryl’s shoulder.

“I like you, too,” Daryl says and Rick wonders as he falls asleep if he’s smiling.


	12. Intimate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting! Work kind of kicked my butt today and I didn't have any time to put my final edits on. It's up now, though!

Rick comes back awake slowly. The first thing he registers is silence punctuated only by the soft moving of a fan somewhere nearby. Where he’s at is quiet and soft and his mind stirs to tell him he’s not on Daryl’s back anymore. He cracks his eyes open slowly and sees white surrounding him--his body placed on a cloud, covered with a second one so that he’s in a little fluffy cocoon. He snuggles in and as he does so, the clouds morph to his body. He blinks and looks around and finds the guestroom wall staring straight back at him.

And there, lying next to him with his arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it’s the night sky and he’s counting stars, is Daryl. Daryl doesn’t realize he’s awake. Rick can tell from the frown on his face, from the concentration in the crinkles of his eyes. Rick stares, his own gaze getting wider as he wakes up, drinking in what he sees before him. Daryl’s body is relaxed--his shoulders without tension, his neck laying flat against its cloud pillow. But his mind seems alert, cast about to problems and issues that Rick has no clue about, but suddenly wants to. What worries an angel? What could be wrong for him--this creature that soars on broad, strong wings, that touches the sunlight with every pore of his body like Rick’s has cried to do even once, with his halo and his musical magic and his good intentions. Rick feels a bitter seed of hate plant in his stomach and he waters it with jealousy and self-deprecation. Because Rick never got the chance to do that, to be that.

But does it even matter anymore? He can’t be mad at Daryl. Not for something he is, for something that’s natural for him. It’s not his fault that Rick is fucked up, that Rick chose a different path, that he was _made_ to choose a different path, that no one came soaring down from Heaven for him in his epiphany like they did for Merle, that when Rick raised his hand and did what he did, he meant it with every fiber in his being that was more than just the sinew and the flesh of his human body, that was his screaming and raging soul.

But that doesn’t matter. Rick squeezes his eyes shut before Daryl sees and sticks his nose into a cloud puff. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. _Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter. All over and gone and done and there’s nothing you can do about it now_. So instead, Rick thinks about puppies getting run over by trucks, plucking the wings off of butterflies, ruining the air-conditioning in Lori’s perfect SUV. He thinks about simple things. Things he can digest.

And when he feels like himself again, he wakes up a second time, stretching to alert Daryl to his presence. Daryl blinks and looks over at him with blue eyes that Michonne should have made illegal in any of the realms. Rick keeps stretching--pulling his wings out to the sides so that the leather tightens and crackles with the effort. He extends his arms and his legs, really gets into it for a moment, and then starts blowing the cloud blanket off of himself. “Don’t even remember how we got back,” he tells Daryl.

Daryl smiles. “I carried you,” he says. “You were out like a light.”

Rick grunts and falls back onto the cloud from his stretch. He lays on the damn comfy thing and blinks his eyes sleepily at Daryl. “So what, you flew me home and tucked me in?”

Daryl shrugs. “Something like that,” he says and picks at a thread on his shirt. Rick frowns.

“You alright?” he asks.

Daryl shrugs again, staring at his shirt and refusing to make eye contact. “What happened to you, Rick?”

Rick swallows and wonders if angels _can_ read thoughts. “I can feel it.” Daryl frowns heavily and shakes his head, turning his gaze to finally stare down at him. “Like empathy. When you get like this. It’s like electricity in the air before a lightning strike.”

Rick stares at a spot on the cloud between him and Daryl. “Think you should get out of my emotions,” he grunts.

Daryl arches an eyebrow. “Would if I could.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rick snaps.

“Okay,” Daryl says and crosses his arms. “I’ll just sit over here and rain on the bed, then.”

Rick frowns and then rolls on his side so he can arch his body downward and look under the cloud. Sure enough, the bottom layer of it is dark gray again and little thunderstorms are brewing. It’s not full rain yet, but it’s starting to sprinkle down onto the green and cream laced comforter below them. Rick sighs. “I just…” he starts, but he just what? How do you begin to tell someone something like this? His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and words bubble up in his throat, promising to remind him of everything that’s true if he says them.

He sits back up and wraps his wings tight around himself, resting his chin on the top of them. “I lost someone.”

Daryl doesn’t bat an eye and waits for him, lets the silence hang in the air until Rick speaks again. “I lost someone,” he repeats, even though the words don’t do it justice.

“Who?” Daryl asks.

Rick shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, sees in the back of his mind a boy with a sheriff’s hat and eyes that were wide even then, with that expression on his face that would never grow any older. “My boy,” Rick says, hearing his own voice cracking and damning it.

“When you were human?”

Rick nods and tightens his wings until they feel like they’ll suffocate his chest. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

Rick shrugs and puts his head in his wings, pulls his feet in to enclose himself until there’s nothing but the soft redness of the leather as it filters the small light from the guestroom windows. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispers.

“It might,” Daryl says, his voice muffled through Rick’s protective layer. He reaches over and slides his hand between the wings until he can slowly pull them apart. He bends his head so that Rick will look at him and when Rick finally does, Daryl reaches out slowly and touches Rick’s cheek. Rick wonders if he thought it would be wet, but it’s dry as a bone. There’s nothing left in him anymore for that. “If you talked about it. It might matter. It might help.”

Rick stares at him for a moment, catches his gaze and wills him to _feel it_ , to understand. He doesn’t let the anger go, that raging, seething ball. He doesn’t want to see Daryl like that first time in the closet--black and tear-streaked. But he wants Daryl to sense it, nonetheless. To remember it. Daryl pulls his hand back away from Rick. Maybe he does.

“Tell me about him,” Daryl says instead. All the hard questions gone from his lips-- _He died? How did he die? How did it make you feel? Were you responsible? Why?_ But this one seems even harder, even more impossible to explain. So Rick says the only thing he can say, the only thing that comes to mind.

“His name was Carl,” he says and blinks. “And he was my only kid.”

Daryl nods and looks down, lets his hair fall over his face. The silence engulfs them and Rick can’t stand it anymore. He doesn’t want to think about it. Decades later and it’s still too soon, too _raw_. The thought of sitting here, _describing_ a son that is dead and that he can’t find in Heaven or Hell, makes him want to fall to pieces. Carol’s offer stamps into his mind like the heavy sound of a jackhammer, her outstretched hand, the smile on her face-- _If you become this, you’ll never feel powerless again. You’ll be free to do whatever you want, Rick. Fuck all of them and come with me_.

Yes, Rick thinks. Fuck all of them. He’s a demon. He’s stronger than this--a whispered fog of a memory of a human that was once connected to him by vain and physical things like blood. Carl is dead. Carl is gone. And he’s strong enough to get over that.

“Fuck me,” he tells Daryl and flaps his wings from himself, plasters them to his shoulders and arches his body so that it unfurls on the cloud, laid out and ready.

Daryl blinks. “ _What_?”

“Fuck me,” Rick says again and lets his body slither down so he’s lying on his back beside Daryl. “You said you wanted to finish and I want to watch you finish and when you come for the first time in your whole life, I want it to be because you’re inside me.”

Daryl blinks again and stares, drinks Rick’s body in like a drunkard with his first shot of the night. “...okay,” he says softly and Rick knows that the raindrops have stopped falling on the comforter.

Daryl slides down over him and Rick opens his body, curling his arms around Daryl’s biceps and opening his legs so that Daryl can settle between them. “I don’t…” Daryl starts, but Rick shushes him.

“I’ll teach you how,” he says and reaches up to run his hands lightly over Daryl’s hairline. He curls just the tips of his fingers into Daryl’s hair and grins. “Want you to fuck me hard,” he whispers, “and fast.”

Daryl nods and his gaze flickers from Rick’s eyes to his mouth to down his body. “Can I kiss you?”

Rick blinks and thinks that’s just a bad idea, but then he remembers the feel of Daryl’s lips on his--soft, but with all kinds of pressure. “Sure,” he says and nods.

Daryl leans down slowly and presses his lips to Rick’s. They slide over each other like skis over the snow and Rick closes his eyes involuntarily at the feel of it. Daryl puts his hand alongside Rick’s neck, sliding his thumb up under Rick’s jawline and Rick opens his mouth in a gasp. When he does, Daryl dives inside, running his tongue along the edge of Rick’s lips before pushing in and for an angel that’s not an expert in things like kissing or sex, he’s making Rick weak-kneed and fluttery like he’s been practicing for this his entire life.

Rick arches up into him, clinging and lets his mouth fall open for Daryl to explore and it turns hard, passionate, _right,_ and Rick feels like a moth under a magnifying glass with the way his wings are twitching and his tail is trying to curve its way up Daryl’s side.

Something smacks into Rick’s horn with a hollow ding and Daryl grunts and pulls back, frowning hard. Rick frowns, too, until he realizes it was Daryl’s halo knocking against his horn and he laughs as Daryl grabs it off his head and growls at it. “Stupid thing,” he says and then looks around awkwardly for where to put it. He slides his gaze down at Rick and then reaches up, loops it over Rick’s horns and his head and then brings it down so it clatters against Rick’s throat, splayed like a necklace. Daryl waves his hand and the halo shrinks to fit Rick just right.

Daryl stares down at it and then reaches forward, runs his fingers over the hoop. They brush lightly at Rick’s skin and Rick swallows, a thought flashing across his mind that he can’t stop. _Never take this off of me_. “Am I your possession now?” Rick asks with a chuckle and Daryl stammers.

“W-what? No. That’s not what I--”

“Shut up,” Rick says and leans forward on his elbows, grabbing the back of Daryl’s head and pulling him in, “I want to be.” And then they’re kissing again and it’s angles and roughness and the scratch of Daryl’s stubble against Rick’s. Daryl starts moving of his own accord, his body rocking into Rick’s in a movement that’s pure instinct and Rick grins into Daryl’s mouth at the feel of him heavy on Rick’s thigh.

“Naked,” Rick breathes into Daryl’s mouth, “want you naked.”

Daryl opens his eyes in a flash and stares down at Rick in awe before nodding and sitting up to whip off his shirt. Rick falls back on the cloud and starts unsnapping his own buttons, reveling in everything happening around him. Daryl’s skin is revealed clothing by clothing and his wings twitch agitatedly, just like Rick’s. Rick feels the coolness of the cloud touch his skin when his shirt comes free and the halo at his throat is warm and smooth like pavement under the sun. And then they’re naked.

And Daryl is bending down to kiss him again and Rick’s body responds like it’s him that’s been waiting for this for all his life. “What do I do?” Daryl asks against his lips.

Rick smiles at him and lets his tail slither in between them to boop Daryl’s nose. He laughs at himself. “I have to get ready,” he tells Daryl. “Remember what I was doing that first day with my tail?” Daryl goes scarlet, but he grunts and nods. “That’s what it’s going to be,” Rick continues and lets his eyes turn into mischief, “only it’s not going to be my tail.” Rick waves it in front of Daryl’s face. “It’s going to be your cock.”

Daryl moans and Rick widens his eyes, fascinated at the sound. “H-how do you get ready?”

“Do you want to do it?” Rick asks. “Or do you want me to?”

Daryl bites his lip. “You do it. I want to watch, though.”

“Okay,” Rick says and leans up. He places his fingers on the side of Daryl’s face, feather-light and barely touching, but then he hesitates. He wants to do this. He does, and he tells himself not to be a damn sissy about it. So he gathers all of his demon courage and leans forward, is the one to kiss Daryl this time instead of the other way around. Daryl’s mouth jerks forward to his like it can’t help itself and they fall into one another again, teeth and tongues and brittle passion.

When they pause for breath, Rick smiles at him and slowly turns himself over under Daryl's body so that he can lay down on his stomach below him. He arches his ass up to Daryl, lets Daryl's cock touch his skin and press to it. Daryl bites his lip hard and moans and Rick grins to himself that he can get that kind of sound from him.

Rick summons the bottle of lube to his side and dips his tail in it, curling his fingers into the cloud to give them something to do. "Lean up," he whispers to Daryl, "so you can watch." Daryl grunts and then the pressure of skin-to-skin is gone as Daryl rocks back on his calves and sits behind Rick to study what he's doing.

Rick takes his tail and puts it at his own opening, spreading his thighs so that Daryl can really see. He leans his head down against the cloud and it cushions him perfectly. He folds his wings, stretching them out to his sides to get them out of the way and stares at Daryl over his shoulder, watching Daryl watch him. Rick takes just the tip of the spade and circles his opening. Daryl swallows and Rick gasps. And then Rick puts it in, just the tip of it. The spade bends to accommodate Rick's body and Daryl's fingers twitch as if they want to reach for him. Rick smiles. "You want to help?" he asks, his voice husky.

Daryl nods quickly. "Okay," Rick chuckles, "You can play with me. You won't hurt me. Just go slow."

Daryl swallows again and then reaches for Rick, sliding his body a couple of inches closer. He grabs onto Rick's tail, still inside, below the spade and runs his fingers over it on his way up. Rick waits patiently for him even though he's already starting to throb with just the thought of Daryl's exploration. Daryl gets to the spade and curls his fingers around it, pulls it out and studies it. Rick bites back a moan. "I've got to be loose and slick before you go in," he tells Daryl and Daryl nods.

"I can play with you?" he asks.

Rick snorts. " _Yes_."

Daryl smiles and reaches forward with his left hand, splays it across Rick's back and holds him in place. With the other, he takes the spade and puts the tip in Rick's entrance again. Rick groans and his eyes roll back in his head. "Feels good?" Daryl asks and Rick nods. Daryl pushes the spade in further, so slow Rick is sure he's going to die from it. And then Daryl takes it out. And puts it back in. "Oh, _yes_ ," Rick breathes. "You've been holding out on me. You're a fucking natural at this."

Daryl laughs. "No, I'm not," he's quick to say.

"Fuck you," Rick gasps out. "Fuck _me_."

Daryl removes the spade and tosses Rick's tail aside. It flicks where it lands on the cloud and then Daryl's _hands_ are there and his finger is in Rick's ass and Rick can't help it. " _Daryl_ ," he cries out.

Daryl pauses at the sound and opens his mouth to say something, but Rick rocks himself back on Daryl's finger and that must answer any questions that Daryl had. Daryl reaches for the bottle still by Rick's shoulder and pours lube onto his hand. He stares at it and then tosses it aside before taking his fingers and putting them back into Rick. Rick makes a whining noise that he's sure makes him sound like a little whore, but he doesn't care right now. He needs Daryl with a fire that burns hotter than the seventh circle. He needs Daryl like Carol needs eyeballs, like Michonne needs to fuck with people's lives. He _needs him_ on some deep kind of chemical, molecular level. " _Fuck me_ ," he gasps.

"You're ready?"

"Fuck yes, just fuck me. _Fuck me_." Rick’s tail flies back and forth and he has to give it a special kind of effort to make it stay still. He straps his wings to his side and arches his ass up in the air, opening his legs further and presenting himself.

Daryl slides his body forward and presses his groin to Rick again. Rick moans at the contact and dips his head down to rest against the cloud. "Holy shit, I'm so hot for you," he says and digs his nails into the cloud. "Please, Daryl. _Please_."

"I just--"

"Stick it in," Rick tells him. "Don't worry. It's going to feel _so good_ and I'm going to feel _so good_."

"Okay," Daryl says and a shiver shoots up and down Rick's spine at the desperation in his voice, the breathy shallowed gasp that Daryl makes as he positions himself. Daryl puts one hand on Rick's hip to hold him and with the other he bats Rick's tail away from where it's waving agitatedly again. And then, he's inside, pushing just the head in at first and going slow, slow, so slow that Rick wants to explode in agony at how Daryl is making him wait.

" _Fuck_ ," Daryl breathes and involuntarily bucks forward another inch.

"Tell me," Rick is quick to say. "Tell me how it feels. Say it. Say what you think of me."

"You're so tight," Daryl grunts and digs his nails into Rick's hip. "Shit, it feels so good. You're so..."

"What?"

"So..."

"What, Daryl?" Rick moans. "What?"

"Beautiful." Daryl pushes himself forward further into Rick at the same time that he drapes himself over Rick's body. One arm comes up under Rick's chest to pull him close and suddenly they are all physical contact, Daryl's front plastered to Rick's back. Daryl kisses his shoulder, open-mouthed and dirty and wet, and Rick throws his head back, careful of where his horns are going. Daryl moves the hand around Rick's chest to grab ahold of one of them, pulling and causing Rick’s throat to arch out tightly into a curve.

" _Fuck_ ," Rick cries out, " _yes_."

"Am I hurting you?" Daryl asks and pulls out even though he was never all the way in.

"No," Rick shakes his head venomously. "No. Fucking _use me_. Don't stop. Go hard. I want to feel you. I have to feel you."

Daryl pushes back in a little harder, goes a little deeper, and it's still not what Rick wants, but he's getting there. "Yeah, baby," Rick brings his arm back around him so that he can touch Daryl and Daryl bucks forward farther. "All the way in," Rick says. "So far you can't go any farther," and then Daryl _does_ , with one powerful force, bottom out inside of him. Rick screams in pleasure and tightens his ass for Daryl, rocks back onto him. Daryl, encouraged, pulls out and does it again, getting the same scream from him.

"Shit," Daryl breathes into his ear. "Fucking shit."

"Yes," Rick says, "How does it feel?"

Daryl slides his hand from the horn to Rick's throat, pulls him back up so that they're plastered to each other again. "I don't ever have to go to Heaven again," he whispers in Rick's ear. "I got it right here."

If Rick wasn't so desperately wanton, he would gag. But he's in no state to complain, so he rests his head back against Daryl's and opens his mouth to suck air into his lungs. "I..."

"Tell me what you want."

"I..."

"Tell me, Rick."

Rick swallows and when he speaks, his words come out in a tiny little breath that's barely audible in the guestroom over the sounds of their bodies pushing and pulling at one another. "Make me yours," Rick finally says and Daryl kisses his throat, groans into his skin, and slams him down into the cloud.

Rick's upper body goes flat against the surface and Daryl's weight follows it, pressing him into it deliciously. Rick's tail is all a flutter, but Daryl grabs it, tugs it away and then with both hands grabs ahold of Rick's hips and pulls hard, angling Rick the way he wants him to be. Rick cries out in passion and when Daryl slams forward and finds that magical spot deep within him, his eyes go crossed and his mouth falls open. Daryl pulls out and slams forward again and again and with each thrust, Rick's fingers tangle in the clouds more, his cries get sharper and higher, and his cock, which hasn't even been _touched,_ strains.

But Rick doesn't even need to be touched. Barely even needs to think about it, because when Daryl leans down and growls into his ear, "Put your tail in me," Rick almost loses himself into the cloud below him.

" _What_?" he gasps.

"I want to know what it feels like," Daryl says, his voice rough like sandstone. Daryl reaches for Rick's neck and tugs at the halo. "You're mine," he growls and Rick can't agree more. "But I want to be yours. You want me to come inside you? For the first time? You want me to finish inside you?"

" _Yes_ ," Rick cries out.

"I want you inside me, too," Daryl breathes, "I want a part of you with me."

Rick flicks his tail and doesn't have to be told twice. He grabs the bottle from where Daryl tossed it aside and slicks up his tail again quickly, flicking it back to Daryl's ass. Daryl grabs the spade and lifts up off Rick to arrange himself and then Rick feels it, _feels_ his tail right against Daryl's ass and he moans loudly into the room.

"You're going to slide it inside," Daryl says, "and then I'm going to fuck you. And while I do, I'm going to touch you. And then, when you're ready, say my name. Say _Daryl_ and I'm going to throw you over and kiss you while we come."

Rick chokes down a sob in his throat from holding back, but he nods once and his head won't stop moving, nodding again and again and it's all he can manage to lie there and not dirty up the cloud. " _Please_ ,"he gasps and then Daryl releases his tail.

The second Daryl’s hand leaves, Rick slides the spade in nice and slow. Daryl grunts in appreciation and uses the momentum to thrust himself into Rick. Rick moves the spade in and out in an expert, stretching manner and when it’s time, he really pushes forward, finds what he’s looking for and is completely smug when Daryl bucks forward and yells as Rick hits his prostate. Daryl digs his nails into Rick’s hips and loses all control, giving it all he’s got. Rick slams forward over and over again with a grunt and just when he thinks he can’t take anymore, Daryl’s hand is sliding around his hip to his groin and Daryl has him in his hand, is stroking him in a rhythm that’s choppy and not quite on par with the rhythm Daryl has in Rick’s ass or Rick has with his tail in _Daryl_ ’s, but close enough that it sends Rick to gasping and panting.

Daryl’s thumb touches the slit and Rick bucks his hips forward and then snaps them back to meet a hard thrust. “Now,” Rick says.

“No,” Daryl says and starts to remind him, but Rick remembers.

“ _Daryl_ ,” Rick breathes, letting his lips fall open with the sound, letting the lull of the “y” and the “l” roll off his tongue like honey and drip into the room between them. Daryl grunts and suddenly Rick’s tail is flung aside and he’s empty. But then Daryl is flipping him over and they come back together again like the moon and the horizon and Daryl is back inside and Rick’s legs are around his waist and Daryl is stroking him, his mouth on Rick’s, smooth and pressing, holding Rick down the same as an anvil would. Rick melts up into Daryl, dew under the sun as they kiss, and he feels Daryl’s body hitching forward, losing its rhythm to be primal, to be forceful, to be _ready_.

With a sudden shove, Rick pushes Daryl’s mouth away. “No,” he breathes against his lips, “open your eyes.” Something in the back of Rick’s mind ticks off an alarm bell that he shouldn’t be doing this. That he should lean away and stare at the wall as Daryl finishes, that if he gets caught in his eyes while he comes, falls into them like gravity wells, that there will be no turning back. But he doesn’t care. Because he’s never wanted something more in his life than this, so he finishes his sentence, whispers it between them and lets the air catch and hold it for the rest of eternity. “Open your eyes so that I can see you.”

Daryl does, sliding them open, his eyelashes breaking apart and then there they are--the bluest blue that Rick has ever seen, so close he’s almost cross-eyed from it. Rick gasps against Daryl’s lips and widens his gaze. _Don’t blink_ , he thinks to himself, and Daryl’s lips fall open as his rhythm changes from hard to _deep_. He presses forward into Rick and then everything happens all at once. Daryl bottoms out at the same time that the syllable starts to leave his mouth, “R--” and then his eyes widen and Rick knows that Daryl is saying his name and coming inside of him and becoming his and claiming him all at once. “--ick,” Daryl nearly sobs and the sound sends Rick over, too and his hips snap upward and his cock twitches in Daryl’s hand and starts to empty itself, but as it does Rick will not let his eyes slide closed. He refuses.

And then the last of it leaves. The last little tremor of their spent bodies between each other and Daryl falls forward into Rick’s mouth so easily that it would take the full inertia of the Earth to break them apart.

Rick has no idea how long they lay there, how long he’s held in Daryl’s arms. It takes him minutes to come back to himself and to realize that he’s crying, that he’s sobbing like he hasn’t let himself do since he was human, that everything welling up in him is spilling out and he can’t stop it, like some kind of avalanche that Daryl has released. He keeps saying things, keeps crying them, but his voice breaks so bad that he knows Daryl can’t understand. But Daryl holds him close, gathers him up and doesn’t say a word. Like he feels it, like he does know. Like he’s there for Rick and is always going to _be_ there for Rick and that just makes it worse, makes it harder, makes it impossible for Rick to stand.

Because he can’t lose this, too. He can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG
> 
> "Shot in the Mist" by History of Painters  
> (Unfortunately, I can't seem to find a good quality link. I'll keep looking and if I find something, I'll put it up here.)


	13. When Home Comes Calling

Eventually, Rick quiets. His whole body sags, spent, and Daryl just keeps on holding him, Rick’s head resting against his chest, Daryl’s arms encircling. Rick’s body is weak in every way, his shoulders slumped, the corner of his mouth tilted down, his wings flat and unmoving. The only thing that has any energy left is his tail, which grips Daryl’s thigh where it’s wrapped around it like a vine around a tree trunk. It can’t seem to let go and Rick wonders how much of his life would be easier if he just followed it around where it went. It’s the only part of him that feels honest anymore.

Rick blinks his eyes slowly and stares down their bodies at the clouds that Daryl has made covers again. Outside, the day has dipped into evening and the stars have come shining out. It’s about Judith’s bedtime and Rick knows it, knows that he should get up and go into the nursery, hang upside down so that she can hold him, be there for his little monster. He will. Because Judith means the world to him. But right now, Daryl is warm. And quiet. And safe. And Rick can’t leave. Not just yet. Not when he’s this broken.

Daryl doesn’t ask him any questions, doesn’t try to engage him in conversation. Rick doesn’t know if it’s because Daryl can empathize his resistance to speech or if it’s just because he instinctively knows just what Rick needs, exactly who Rick is, exactly what’s wrong. But either way, Daryl lays there, being too goddamn perfect for Rick to even stomach and as the seconds tick by, Rick tells himself that he needs to get up. That he needs to walk away.

Even if his legs won’t move.

The time keeps slipping by and after awhile, Daryl leans over, puts his lips into Rick’s hair in a gesture that’s not quite a kiss, but something like it. “You can stay here,” Daryl whispers, finally breaking the silence and Rick closes his eyes and wills his heartbeat to stay steady, wills the lump in his throat to disappear.   
“Can’t,” Rick whispers back. “Judy.”

Daryl grunts. “Yeah,” he says. “But do you want to?”

“ _Stay_?” Rick snaps, as if the option is ridiculous.

Daryl shrugs and Rick can feel the motion ripple through Daryl’s body. “Yeah.”

Rick sighs, too tired to fight. “Yeah,” he tells Daryl because he does want to stay. Because he doesn’t know if he’ll sleep a wink tonight if he doesn’t. “But I can’t.”

“Okay,” Daryl says and then stands slowly, untangling himself from Rick. Daryl lets the cloud down easily until it touches the comforter and Rick stands up, gets dressed. He pauses for a moment as he does so and touches the halo still around his neck, still one last connection between them. He swallows and pulls it off, hands it back to Daryl and then wraps his arms around himself as he heads to the nursery.

Judith is fussing about in her crib, but the light is off. Rick sighs and climbs up to the ceiling, drops his wings around himself and covers his head and everything else up in them. He feels the little knock as Judith grabs onto his horn and he tells himself not to be mad at her. She’s a baby and she needs this. She needs him. Which is just yet another problem in his life.

Rick isn’t asleep. He’s actually far from it when Daryl walks into the nursery. Rick frowns, but doesn’t twist his head so as not to disturb Judith. He hears from his side the little ding of angel magic and then, incredibly, Daryl’s hand is slithering inside his wings to grab onto his own, threading their fingers together in symmetry. Rick lets Daryl take his hand, stares at his fingers, white and a little silvery against Rick’s tan and a little red. Rick shuffles his wing, glancing out to look in Daryl’s direction, and blinks at what he sees. Daryl isn’t standing, he’s laying down, his cloud created right next to Rick over the nursery. Rick furrows his brow and Daryl smiles, gives his hand a squeeze. “Didn’t want to leave you,” he whispers.

Rick shakes his head and blinks everything back. He’s not in a state to say anything, so he just swallows and nods. But he sleeps. Hanging there in the nursery, with Judith holding onto him while he holds onto Daryl.

***

The morning is better. The sun shines in and Judith wakes up and starts gurgling and her baby noises calm Rick like nothing else really can. He plays with her before Daryl wakes up, trying to teach her the word “shit” so that he can watch the look on Lori’s face when her baby cusses. It’s well past ten before Daryl starts stirring, cracking his eyes at the light and the shrill baby laughter coming out of Judith’s throat.

Judith looks up at Daryl when she sees he’s awake and says with the full power of her baby focus, “ _Shit_.”

Daryl groans, but manages to snort out a laugh as well. “Great,” he tells Rick. “I leave you alone for one second.”

Rick smiles and bounces Judith on his hip. “Next we’re going for ‘bitch.’ I’m going to see if I can get her to say it to Lori.”

“Does the name ‘Rick’ translate to ‘nuisance’ because I think at this point, we’re getting close.”

Rick laughs and sets Judith down to let her play with her toys. He flies up to the cloud and perches on the edge of it, staring down at Daryl. Daryl smiles at him and reaches up, runs his hand over Rick’s arm. “You okay?” he asks.

Rick nods, then thinks better of it. He shakes his head and then shrugs. “Want to talk about it?” Daryl asks.

Rick shakes his head again. “No,” he tells Daryl. “I’m tired of talking about me.” He swings his legs from where they’re hanging off the cloud and watches Judith pull the string for _Sheep says what? BAA._ “Let’s talk about you.”

Daryl snorts. “ _Me_?”

“Yes, dipshit,” Rick says and pulls his knees up, hangs his hands off of them and lets the fingers dangle. “You. Tell me about angels. I don’t know shit about you guys. You have empathy?”

“Isn’t that what an angel is supposed to have?” Daryl asks, his one hand still running over Rick’s, the other tucked up under his head. Rick grunts and waits for Daryl to continue. “Yes,” Daryl says. “I can’t read your thoughts or anything, but I know when you’re happy and when you’re sad. I can feel pretty specific emotions.” He frowns. “I’m sorry, Rick, about--”

“Not me,” Rick cuts in. “I don’t want to talk about me. Remember? You.”

Daryl nods. “Right. So...what do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. How does your magic work?”

“Pretty much the same as yours, I guess. Just opposite. I can do good things. I can heal, give hope, guide others to the truth.” Daryl plucks his halo from the top of his head and stares at it. “All my grace is here,” he tells Rick, tapping his index finger against the halo, which dings merrily at him. “All my good intentions, all my prayers and light. It tilts toward the right since that’s my dominant side, to remind me to always follow my instincts and that my gut knows where I should go.”

Rick nods. “I don’t have any grace,” he says and then feels like a dumbass.

But Daryl laughs good-naturedly. “What do you have?”

Rick shrugs. “It’s different for everyone. A lot of time it’s rage or pride. Sometimes we call it an anger ball or our aura or, you’ll like this one, _the mess_. I guess if it’s got a technical term it’s the well.”

“The well?”

“The well of emotion. What we tap into to remind us of why we chose this.”

“Why did you chose it?”

Rick huffs. “This conversation is about _you_ , remember? You’ve always been an angel?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says and stares at the ceiling while Judith’s toy goes _Pig! Oink!_ “I’ve spent my fair bit of time on Earth, though. Mostly with Merle, which means dive bars and rehab. Nothing too fancy.”

“Do you like your job? Bringing the lost home.”

Daryl smiles and turns back to Rick, nodding. “I do.”

“You good at it?”

Daryl falters, his eyes skipping away from Rick. “Sometimes.”

Rick snorts. “That’s what I want in an angel. _Sometimes_.”

“I’ve lost people before,” Daryl says.

Rick frowns, suddenly not liking the turn in the conversation. “This is stupid,” he says, “ _talking_. I want to do something. We should fly again or I can graffitti the back of the house. Maybe I’ll turn all of Lori’s socks into left-footed socks.”

Daryl laughs. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as right-footed and left-footed _socks_.”

“Says the man who’s never had a pair of socks that were both one-footed.”

Daryl smiles and closes his eyes, drifting. Rick returns the sentiment and is just starting to feel relaxed again when Daryl’s eyes suddenly fly open, wide and alert. He sits up and stares at the ceiling with rapt attention, his spine board-straight. Rick watches in awe as the cloud gets lighter, going from white to blinding, and the silver on Daryl’s wings begins to ripple. Each feather starts to lift itself out, fluttering in an invisible breeze.

Rick watches Daryl’s Adam’s apple as he swallows and a sinking feeling sets up within the pit of his stomach. “What are you doing?” Rick asks with a snap.

“Dog whistle,” Daryl mumbles.

Rick looks up at the ceiling. “Huh?”

Daryl shakes his head and slumps down again. The extra light and fluttering go away. Daryl rubs at his eyes and won’t meet Rick’s gaze. “What--” Rick tries again, but Daryl cuts him off.

“I have to go,” he says and hops off the cloud. It sinks to the ground and Rick can’t help but wonder if it’s because he feels heavier all of a sudden.

“G-go?” Rick asks and curses at himself for sounding so desperate.

“Yeah,” Daryl grunts and waves at the ceiling. “I have to--”

“ _Go?_ ” Rick growls out and stands up off the cloud, his stance wide and his hackles raised.

“Yes, Rick, I--”

“ _Where_?”

“Rick--”

“Where the _fuck_ do you have to _go_?”

“ _Heaven_ ,” Daryl snaps and Rick’s jaw clicks closed. Daryl swallows again. “Michonne called me to Heaven.”

“I didn’t hear a damn thing,” Rick says with narrowed eyes.

“Dog whistle,” Daryl clarifies again and takes a step toward the door. Rick jumps in front of him and shoves him back.

“You’re not _going_.”

Daryl stands his ground and waits for Rick to move aside, but Rick will _not_. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t.”

Daryl scoffs. “It’s _God_. I kind of have to.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“But when are you--”

“I don’t know.”

“ _Are_ you coming back?” Rick asks and he can hear the panic in his voice. He hears himself squeaking, hears the desperation coming back in, but he can’t stop himself. He’s a crashing train and there are no tracks.

Daryl sighs and stares at him with what Rick can only interpret as pity. “I...I don’t know.”

“You don’t…” It’s Rick who swallows this time. He stands up straighter and arches his eyebrow. “You don’t _know_?”

“Rick, I--”

“You don’t _know_ if you’re coming back.”

“I’m coming back,” Daryl tells him and reaches for him, but Rick steps aside before Daryl can make contact. “I’ll be back if she’ll let me.”

“If _she lets you_ ,” Rick growls out.

“Rick, it’s G--”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Rick yells and even the sound of Judith beginning to wail in the corner can’t stop him from his rage. “And _fuck God_.”

Daryl sets his jaw. “You don’t mean that--”

“I _do_ ,” Rick hisses. “She’s nothing but trouble. She’s never done anything for me except for take away what I love.”

Daryl pauses and blinks rapidly and Rick can’t process why Daryl is so shocked by that statement. It’s pretty obvious from what he’s been saying how he feels about Michonne. How he turned away because she abandoned him.

“She’ll send me back,” Daryl says. Rick squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He starts pacing in a little circle in the nursery. Daryl is staring at him and Judith is crying and his head is pounding.

“If she tells you no, you’re not coming back,” Rick says and then figures he’ll just say what he really feels. “Which means you’re not coming back.”

“Rick--”

“I defied Carol for you,” Rick yells, spinning back around into Daryl’s face. “She told me not to care. She told me _not to_. Not for you and not for Judith and there are others, you know. There are others she wants to send. Abraham. Gabriel. _Maggie_. Others who will fuck Judith up. And won’t be so _nice to you_. But fine. Do whatever the fuck you want. Run home to God if it makes you feel better. If it makes you sleep at night.”

“Rick--”

“I don’t need you,” Rick snaps and glares. Daryl takes a step back and Rick knows he looks like fire and ash, like brimstone and death and rage. “Judith,” Rick says, his voice dripping with all the hate he can muster, “doesn’t need you. So _go home_. And don’t come back.”

They stare at each other, each poised in the nursery, the hard silence cut through only by Judith’s pitiful cries. Daryl opens his mouth to speak, but the light comes in again, ruffling his wings and his hair. He squeezes his eyes shut and Rick watches as the light bathes him. “I can’t…” Daryl says and shakes his head. “I have to go. I have to go. Rick, I am _so sorry_ and I will be back, but I have to--”

“Then get out,” Rick growls. “Go.”

Daryl tilts his head and opens his mouth, staring openly at Rick, but Rick looks away and storms over to Judith. He kneels over her and picks her up and by the time that he has her in his arms, Daryl is gone. Rick feels his loss like a sinkhole, the ground broken and swallowing him up. In his arms, Judith keeps wailing and Rick holds her close, tries to soothe her with comforting sounds and the rocking motion of his body. But the shaking in his hands won’t subside and the lump in his throat is hard, solid, and unmovable.

“Ssssh, Little Monster,” he tells her through the cracks in his voice. “Sssssh. It’s alright. I’m here.”


	14. Drowning Your Sorrows

Rick sits in the nursery with Judith for a long time. Outside in the living room, the new babysitter is passed out drunk on the carpet from all of the Jack Daniels that Rick poured into her bloodstream and so the house is quiet with just the two of them. Judith gurgles in Rick’s lap and plays with her building blocks, sticking each one into her mouth and learning geometry by slobbering on each side of each shape.

Rick plays with her hair and talks to her, because it’s better than listening to how the house is empty. “Fucker,” Rick tells her. “That’s our new word. _Fuck_ ,” Rick pushes Judith’s little hair up into a tiny little baby mohawk and then lets the wisps of hair drop from his hand, “ _er_. F-U-C-K-E-R. Do you want me to use it in a sentence? ‘Daryl is a fucker.’ How’s that? It’s a very accurate sentence. _Fucker_ ,” Rick says and stares up at the willow tree swaying outside in the yard, “is someone who is mean. Or someone who is a jerk. It’s a guy that tells you that he _never has to go to Heaven ever again because he has Heaven right here_ and then _goes to Heaven_.” Rick frowns and stares down at Judith. “See also: douchewad. As in, ‘Daryl is a douchewad.’ That’s _also_ a very accurate sentence.”

Judith sticks a star in her mouth and then says “ _BA!_ ” around it. Rick doesn’t know what she means, but he’s going to assume that it has something to do with ‘Daryl is a ba,” and he can substitute ‘ba’ for asswipe or fuck nugget.

“Can I tell you something?” Rick asks Judith and Judith pulls the star out of her mouth with a little string of drool. Rick takes her blanket and wipes off her mouth. “Last night…” Rick sighs and then leans down, kisses Judith’s head. “Punch and Light did some very adult things. No, I’m not going to tell you details. You have to wait for another twenty years. Yes, that’s right. You have to be twenty- _two_ before you date. I think I might make it twenty-five. That’s better. No. Thirty. Thirty is good. Anyway…” Rick sighs. “We did things.” He plays with Judith’s hair some more. “And I…” Rick sighs and stares out at the willow tree again. Judith reaches for the hexagon block and can’t quite make it so Rick gets it for her. She settles down to bite at the soft edges of the toy. “I’ve never…”

“Ba!” Judith says again and shows him the hexagon.

“Yes, ba.”

Judith turns the toy, sticks it back in her mouth, pulls it out, slaps it against Rick’s knee with a giggle.

“I’ve never...it’s never...been like that.”

Judith stares up at him and then says, “ _Punch!_ ”

Rick smiles. “Yes,” he says. “Punch.” He sighs. “I haven’t kissed anyone since...and I’ve never...fuck, Judith, do _not tell anyone I said this_. I’ve never made...love...before. I don’t know if that’s what that was. It’s stupid. English is a stupid language. _Make love_. That’s so fucking dumb. I mean, what does that mean, anyway? There’s no word in between fucking and making love. So what did we do? What do you call it when you have sex with someone you care about? I need a dictionary.” Rick sighs again, loudly into the nursery. “Whatever,” he tells Judith. “It doesn’t matter, though, does it? He’s not coming back. Fucker. Fuck. Er.”

“Uckr,” Judith says and throws the hexagon at the wall.

Rick laughs. “There you go!” He smiles. “FUCKER.”

***

Rick pours all of his attention into Judith. Since the babysitter is out for the count, it’s up to Rick to make lunch, which is a damn _process_ since he can barely remember what it feels like to eat, let alone cook for someone else. He does manage, though, to get Judith into her high chair and to give her a little bowl of spaghetti that is more or less unburnt. She eats half of it and throws the other half all over the table like a little paintball spaghetti massacre and Rick grins at her and keeps telling her _good job_.

Once lunch is over, they play for a little bit more and Rick lays her down for a nap in the afternoon. Once she’s thoroughly asleep, he removes his horn from her hand and goes into the library, picks up random books and starts bending the backs of them out of shape. He puts a long scratch on a bookcase, stops up the wheel of Lori’s rolling chair, puts itching powder in her bed.

When Judith wakes up, Rick flies to her side, gives her a little snack and burps her, changes her diaper, and gets out the big squeaky book that she likes about the duckling. He reads it to her, even using the appropriate voices, and she giggles along, smacking the book whenever he turns the page.

Rick keeps one eye on the front door, but it never opens.

Lori returns to the house at five and Rick is delighted to listen to the argument that Lori has with the babysitter, who she has to throw water on to wake up. The babysitter is confused and agitated and keeps saying that Lori’s house is haunted and at the very end of the rather heated debate, Lori grabs her arm and digs her nails into the girl’s skin, pulls her to the door, and throws her out. She picks up Judith and coos over her, checking her as if she has an injury. Rick obliges her and doesn’t interfere.

When he’s sure that Lori is calm and that Judith is safe, Rick leaves the house. He’s not in the mood to watch _Say Yes to the Dress_ or whatever it is that Lori has decided is her new kick and he feels like the new scenery might help him forget.

He flies lazily through the neighborhood, scanning for things to mess with, and when he finds a yard full of puppies, he knows he’s in luck. He swoops down and snatches one, a little golden fluffball that cries as it’s lifted into the air. Rick looks around for what to do with it and sees, at the next house over, a pool. Rick grins. Demon drowning puppies? Check.

He flies to the yard and sits down at the edge of the pool, quickly putting the puppy in a little bone cage while he gets himself ready. It’s still cool out, so the pool is empty, but Rick doesn’t give that a second thought. He waves his hand until the pool fills with water and then flips into his human attire and toes off his red-soled boots. He rolls up the skinny black jeans so that he can dip his feet into the water and brings the pool to a nice warm temperature that clings to his legs.

The puppy starts whining.

Rick rolls his eyes. “That is not going to help you out,” he says and opens the cage, grabs the little thing by the scruff of its neck. Rick tilts it here and there and studies it. It’s another damn golden retriever--what the hell is up with these things?--and it’s a boy. Not that that matters to a pup that’s too young to even know it’s about to be dead.

Rick sticks it in the pool, until just its head is above water. Pools are good places to drown things, Rick thinks. The water is clear, so he can really _watch_ the puppy struggle, can see the fur as it gets wet and tries to fly everywhere. The puppy’s legs start to flounder and it picks up the doggy-paddle technique real easy, despite the hopelessness of the action. Rick tries to push his hand to dip the thing fully under the water, but then he frowns.

The puppy is starting to depress him.

He lifts the thing out of the water and watches as it starts to whine again. Maybe he’s doing this wrong. He wrinkles his nose. “I’m going to name you Daryl,” he tells the puppy. “That’ll make it easier for you to die.”

And then he shoves it back into the water, watches it again as it struggles, it’s head still above water. He’s really doing it a favor, when you think about it. What is there in this ugly world to grow up into? What kind of happiness could a puppy have? What is it going to do--get older and get more golden and get a purple collar and get named after a stupid flower and run into traffic just so a damned angel can save it? Lame, Rick thinks.

But he lifts it out of the water. It blinks its eyes and cries at him again and Rick frowns. “Daryl,” he tells it, “stop that.” But the puppy just barks at him and lays there in his hand, not fighting Rick. Like it _trusts_ Rick. Even though he tried to drown it. Like it thinks Rick could be a _better man_.

Rick gags to himself. This is stupid.

He tosses the puppy back in the cage and gathers it up with him, flies back home. It takes Lori twenty minutes to find it in the nursery and when she does, she shrieks to high Heaven, but by that time, Judith has already learned how to cuddle the golden mess and so Lori begrudgingly calls a friend to watch Judith and then drives to Petsmart, coming back in the door later that night with provisions.

Rick passes the evening by with Judith, watching her as she goes back to chewing on her star, her triangle, her hexagon. They go to sleep like they always have, Rick roosting above her and Judith gurgling below. The front door remains closed and the guestroom quiet. But Rick doesn’t care. He doesn’t.


	15. Be Dirty to Me

The door slams open and Rick’s body jerks at the noise, his head shooting up and away from Judith and his wings flying out from around his body. The first thing that hits his system is a pure adrenaline rush and muscle memory tells him to hiss at the other demons coming to interrupt his sleep and to prepare for a tussle. But it’s not another demon. Because he isn’t in Hell. He’s in the nursery and so that must mean…

Daryl’s lips find his before Rick even has time to process what is happening. Rick grunts, still upside down, but that doesn’t matter because Daryl’s upper lip is caught between his two and Daryl’s hands are on his neck, holding him in place and his tongue is there and his teeth and his pressure and it’s almost like Rick can feel the pounding of Daryl’s heart through the contact of his skin, beating in the same wild, erratic rhythm that Rick’s is beating.

And then Daryl’s mouth is gone, but his hands are still there, sliding over Rick’s skin as Daryl moves and Rick blinks into the darkness as he watches the angel flip himself upside down and then come at Rick again, his mouth diving back in properly this time and Rick bends to him, sways in his roost and Daryl’s wings fly around them like a great, big blanket making a cave just for the two of them. “I had to kiss you,” Daryl whispers against his lips, “one last time before I _literally explode into a ball of fire and die_.”

Rick blinks and opens his mouth, gets “ _Wh_ \--” out, but then Daryl is kissing him again, long and passionate and hard and it takes all of Rick’s energy to push him away. “ _Explode_?” he squeaks.

Daryl blinks at him and Rick can barely make out his features in the darkness, but little things suddenly tick into Rick’s senses and he notices that Daryl is frowning and more than that, that Daryl is _shaking_ \--his wings vibrating with nervous energy and his hands quivering where they touch Rick’s skin. “I don’t…” Daryl starts, but then cuts himself off. He looks down at his feet, to the ceiling and Rick looks down, too, but it takes him a moment to catch on.

Heaven. “What’s going on?” Rick asks.

“I don’t...I don’t think I’ll _actually_ explode,” Daryl says, but he’s still shaking. “I mean, I hope I won’t.” He swallows. “I hope she won’t explode me.”

“Daryl--”

“She told me not to come back.” Daryl snaps his gaze up to Rick, searches his eyes with a flickering motion that sets Rick’s heart to beating. “She said...she was replacing me and I...I was supposed to stay in Heaven.”

“Well, you’re not in Heaven now,” Rick points out like a dumbass.

“I know,” Daryl says with a grimace. He leans forward to kiss Rick again, but Rick leans away from him, needing the explanation. “I told her no.” Daryl widens his eyes and he sets his jaw. “I told God no. I told _God no_. She’s going to punish me. I know she is. So I have to kiss you now. Okay? Before she does.”

Rick opens his mouth, but finds he has nothing to say. He stares at Daryl, taking in the sight of the angel still shaking in front of him, still giving the ceiling nervous stares, still watching Rick with something akin to desperation in his eyes. “You came back,” Rick says.

Daryl nods and then nods again and gathers Rick to him, pulls Rick’s body in like Rick is his to take. And isn’t he? Isn’t that exactly what this is? Daryl’s lips find him again and Rick closes his eyes, basks in it this time--the feel of Daryl’s mouth on his, the slide of their skin together, the air that they’re sharing between them. They hang upside down above Judith and kiss, steady and deep like the ocean and Rick’s body clings to Daryl--his wings folding themselves right against Daryl’s side, his chest pressing against Daryl’s front, his tail twining its way up Daryl’s leg again, slow like a growing vine. “I missed you,” someone whispers and Rick isn’t sure who it is until he hears Daryl’s voice, pebble rough--“Me, too.”

Daryl ends the kiss, pulls back away from him slightly and blinks at Rick, his eyes beacons in the darkness. “Take me to the guestroom,” he tells Rick. “ _Take me_. Before we don’t have any time left.”

Rick bites his lip but nods, and then both of them are dropping from the ceiling in a flutter of wings and dashing through the hallway in the small space. Rick is better at navigating, diving and weaving quickly, while Daryl’s wings almost get stuck in the tight turn from the nursery to the hallway. When Rick gets to the room, he hovers, beating his wings quickly and waiting. Daryl slides through and then the cloud is there and Rick crashes into it with the full power of a freight train. It catches him softly as it always does and little puffs come loose from where he hit too hard. Daryl smiles and dives for him, covers Rick with one smooth move and they roll around on top of one another, the cloud sliding across the room with them.

Rick ends up on top and he grins down at Daryl and kisses him fully. Daryl moans and opens himself to Rick, both his lips as they fall apart and his body as he spreads his legs. Rick presses into Daryl, enjoying the delicious heat of his chest and his stomach and his groin. “How do you want it?” Rick breathes, making sure each syllable is sensory, that Daryl can feel each dip and rise of Rick’s lips and tongue.

Daryl gasps and throws his head back just slightly and Rick follows the curve of his mouth down to his chin, to his throat. He nips as he goes, dragging his teeth over Daryl’s jawline and Daryl growls out, “Dirty.”

Rick laughs. “Dirty?”

Daryl bites his lip and moans. “I told God _no_. I think all bets are off the table now.” He reaches for Rick, tugs his hair and so Rick leaves his neck alone and looks up at Daryl. Daryl smiles, slow and with a twinkle in his eye. “I want you to _show me_. _Everything_.”

Rick’s tail starts to flick. “You sure about that?” he asks.

Daryl nods, once, but the movement is precise and confident. “Everything,” he repeats.

“Well, okay, then,” Rick says, sliding up his body to kiss him again. “ _Everything_ coming up.”

Daryl chuckles against his lips and Rick swallows the sound down, letting it echo in his veins like a beat that he never knew he was missing. Daryl’s mouth is hot and wet, his body arched and angled, spread out for Rick like an all-you-can-eat dinner and Rick is _hungry_.

Rick slides his hand under Daryl’s shirt and grins at the little gasp he gets. His fingers splay over Daryl’s chest, working their way up until his nails crest a nipple, scraping lightly. Daryl moans and so Rick does it again and then his second hand gets involved so he can take Daryl’s shirt off. He throws it in the corner and then starts working on Daryl’s pants. He grins while he straddles him, ripping open the button and then pulling the zipper down roughly before reaching inside. Daryl is already half-hard and Rick grins at that. His wings stretch out a little from his back and his tail whips. “That for me?” he asks Daryl with a laugh and Daryl grunts, but nods. Rick strokes him once, twice, three times before hooking his fingers into the waistband of Daryl’s pants and pulling them down. Rick follows the pants as they go, backing up and slithering down Daryl’s body until he can pull Daryl’s pants off slowly, one leg at a time. He tosses them with the shirt and gives Daryl a wide smile. “My turn,” he says and sits back, pulls his shirt over his head slowly and with purpose. Daryl moans and Rick smiles as he catches Daryl’s eyes glued to his body.

Rick reaches for his own pants and lifts his hips. He slides the fabric down with care, ticking it across his skin inch by inch by inch. Daryl bites his lip and Rick sneaks a look down at his cock--sees it getting bigger, fuller. And then Rick is naked, too, and they’re ready.

Rick has so many ideas. Where to begin? But of course there’s one that floats to the surface. One thing he’s been _wanting_ to do ever since he learned about it. And he can’t resist now, not with Daryl telling him that nothing’s off the table. Now’s his opportunity. So he takes it.

He reaches up with a quick, lightning motion, and snatches Daryl’s halo right off his head. It dings as it comes loose and then falls into Rick’s palm like it knows that it was heading there the whole time. Daryl grunts, but watches Rick and Rick holds it up, rolls it around in his hands and leans forward to press his lips against it. And then he looks down at Daryl’s cock, pauses, but decides that yes. This is what he’s going to do. He loops the halo over Daryl’s member and grins. “Shrink it.”

Daryl balks. “W-what?”

“Shrink it. Down to fit the base.” Rick smiles. “Tight enough to cause pressure, but not too tight.”

Daryl balks. “W-why?”

Rick starts slithering up his body again, sliding them together skin for skin. Daryl’s eyes roll back in his head and when Rick gets back up to Daryl, he leans down and lets his tongue flick at Daryl’s ear as he speaks. “The pressure will keep you from coming quickly,” he growls. “So I can make this last as long,” he flicks his tongue over Daryl’s earlobe, “as I,” kisses it, “want,” bites down on it. Daryl shivers and Rick is proud of himself.

There’s a little ding and Rick looks down to watch the halo as it starts shrinking. He grins at the smooth, gold metal and once Daryl has it the way he wants it, Rick reaches down and runs his index finger over the hoop, smiles at how it feels warm and polished under his skin.

“Good,” Rick says and leans forward to kiss Daryl hungrily. “Now we’re ready. I want you,” he says and boops Daryl’s nose with his finger, “to lay back. And enjoy the ride.”

Daryl nods and closes his eyes and Rick smiles as he watches Daryl visibly relax his body. Rick kisses his jawline again, lets his lips linger there for a second before he scrapes his teeth down Daryl’s throat. Daryl’s breath hitches and Rick smiles at that. He moves down further, putting his mouth over Daryl’s Adam’s apple and sucking lightly before dipping down to lick the hollow of his throat and then over his collarbone. His hands go with him, running over Daryl’s skin, his nails scraping lightly at what he’s touching.

Rick moves onto his chest, kisses the center of it, thumbs over Daryl’s nipples. He touches his arms, licks his biceps, plays with the inside of his elbow. And then he goes lower, to his stomach, digging little river beds of scratches in Daryl’s side. Daryl’s breath gets shallower, more rapid and Rick’s kisses respond to it in fashion.

And then he’s hovering above Daryl’s cock, erect with that little gold piece sitting at the bottom of it. Rick smiles and leans forward, licks around the halo and chuckles as Daryl’s hips buck forward. “ _Rick_ ,” Daryl moans and Rick grins.

“I’m going to lick you,” Rick tells him. “I’m going to put my mouth all over you and then I’m going to _suck_ you. Right here.” Rick reaches forward and runs his hand over the tip of Daryl’s cock. Daryl jerks forward and his eyes fly open to pour into Rick’s like water into a glass.

“S-suck?”

“Oh, baby,” Rick laughs. “You’re going to love it. But first. Oh, first...I’m going to make you work for it.” With a swift move, Rick strikes out his hand to Daryl’s side and grabs one of his feathers, plucks it with ferocity. Daryl yelps and glares, but Rick just chuckles. “I need this,” he says with a shrug and then settles himself nicely between Daryl’s legs.

“What are you--” Daryl starts to ask, but Rick is already working. He holds the feather gently between his index finger and thumb and drops it down low, starts just the slowest movement of it across Daryl’s balls. Daryl grunts and Rick smiles as his head falls back against the cloud. “ _Jesus_ ,” he grates out.

Rick laughs. “No,” he says. “Just Rick,” and then flicks the feather again. He leans forward and touches just the tip of his tongue to Daryl’s cock and Daryl’s hips buck forward automatically.

“I hate you,” Daryl breathes out and Rick smiles. He flicks his tongue again and Daryl is suddenly reaching down to try and make Rick touch him _more_ and that’s just unacceptable.

“Bad boy!” Rick says with a laugh and with a flick of his wrist, Daryl is suddenly tied to the cloud, his arms up above his head and caught in a very nice red-dusted rope. Daryl grunts, but doesn’t ask to be released, so Rick just smiles and goes back to what he’s doing. He runs the feather over Daryl again and dips his head down, drags his tongue up the underside of Daryl’s cock. Daryl whines and his thighs fall open more, his hips arching upwards and Rick finally takes pity on him and slides his lips down over the tip.

Daryl gasps and his whole body arches. His hands fight against the rope that’s holding them back and he squirms, thrusting his hips upward, but Rick won’t let him get more in his mouth other than just the head. Not yet. _Slow_.

Still playing with the feather, he starts to stretch his mouth, starts to move millimeter by millimeter, as slow as a glacier. When Daryl’s hips get too wild, Rick reaches out and presses them, holding him in place. He keeps moving his mouth down and down and down, until he has all of Daryl in his mouth. His throat relaxes around him and Rick thanks his demon blood for all of its sexy whoreness.

He pulls back off a little faster, sucking as he goes and then goes back down, his eyes glued up Daryl’s body to where Daryl is moaning and thrashing about. Rick swirls his tongue over the head and goes down again, removes the feather so that he can use his fingers to roll Daryl’s balls around in his hand. Daryl pants out his name again and falls apart under his hands.

Rick pulls off with a little pop and grins. “You ready for me to be inside you?” he asks and Daryl says _yes_ before his sentence is even finished. Rick chuckles. “Want me to use my tail to--”

“ _Yes_ ,” Daryl says again.

Rick smiles and sits up, using his thighs to hold Daryl in place as he straddles him. He swings his tail around and snaps his fingers to summon his trusty bottle. Once he gets his tail nice and slick, he pulls at Daryl’s hip and tells him to lift it. Daryl does and Rick pulls Daryl’s leg up slowly until it’s around Rick’s waist. He leans down over him, stopping just shy of his lips and grins. “You ready?”

Daryl groans loudly into the room and nods quickly up at Rick, arching his body for Rick to touch. Rick smiles. “Eager little puppy,” he tells Daryl and then with a swish of his tail, the very tip of the spade is in. Daryl gasps, his eyes flying wide and open and Rick takes that opportunity to lean down and kiss him thoroughly, to dive straight in like the first cannonball of summer. Daryl twitches, his body rolling up into Rick’s and Rick swallows the sound of his own name in Daryl’s mouth. He slides the spade in further, going achingly slow, but deep, and Daryl shudders underneath him, his skin rippling with the electricity between their bodies.

Rick works his way inside Daryl with both his tongue and his tail until Rick is a part of him, until he belongs to him like heat belongs to fire, like softness to clouds and the gentle swaying of the willow leaves on their branches. And Daryl belongs to him, too, his little twitches and his little gasps, his skin slick with sweat and shivering with need. He kisses back as thoroughly as Rick gives, rolls his hips with the motion of Rick’s tail in and out, in and out.

“Have me,” Daryl whispers and pulls at the rope again, stares up into Rick with those impossibly blue eyes. Rick nods slowly and swallows, removes his tail so he can position himself. Daryl doesn’t have to be told to wrap his second leg up around Rick’s waist, to bend his hips just right to guide Rick in.

Rick reaches up to the rope on Daryl’s arms, slides his hand into Daryl’s and twines their fingers together. He pushes in slow and deep, catches Daryl’s gasp in his mouth and then licks down to bite at his lower lip. “Do you like it?” he asks and pulls out, goes slowly back in. “My cock in you?”

Daryl groans and whispers _yes_ against Rick’s lips. Rick smiles.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says and Daryl moans. Rick runs the fingers not in Daryl’s hand down his neck to his collarbone, to his chest. “Into this cloud,” he says and bites his own lip to hold back a groan.

“And then you’re going to come in me,” Daryl finishes, his eyes blown out in the darkness, little gems shining in the light. “And make me yours.”

Rick smiles. “You already are,” he tells Daryl with a laugh and then he kisses him as he thrusts forward hard, pushing Daryl up onto the cloud and going fully into him. Daryl cries out around Rick’s mouth and then kisses him back and Rick squeezes their fingers together.

“Yes,” Daryl agrees. “I’m yours. Make me yours.”

So Rick does. He pulls out and slams back in, watches with riveting attention as Daryl’s body jerks under him, as his mouth falls open in a gasp, as his fingers twist into the rope and into Rick’s fingers. Rick uses his free hand to angle Daryl’s hips and thrusts again, hard and wanton. Daryl is tight and hot and his cock is caught between the two of them, hard and ready. The movement of Rick’s body occasionally brushes against the halo, metal warm, and when it does, Daryl grunts and he twitches. “You want me to touch you?” Rick breathes into his ear. “Do you want my hand on your cock?”

Daryl moans and throws his head back and Rick takes advantage of it, puts his lips on Daryl’s Adam’s apple again and scrapes his teeth, ever so lightly. “Your tail?” Daryl asks and Rick feels the vibration of the words under his lips.

“Mmmm,” Rick says and whips his tail around, slithers it in between them like a charmed snake, “I like that.” Rick’s tail wraps around Daryl and starts to move, grating in that way that Rick knows he likes so much. Daryl’s hips rock up into it and then back down onto Rick’s cock and Rick has a new life goal in mind--to kiss every inch of Daryl’s skin that he can reach.

His teeth and tongue go over Daryl’s jawline, the side of his neck, his shoulder, the hollow of his throat. Rick keeps thrusting the whole time, keeps the rhythm slow, but rough and deep. Daryl rolls with it, his body in perfect alignment to Rick’s. He tugs at the rope again. “Can you take it off?” he asks and meets Rick’s gaze. “I want to touch you.”

Rick smiles and leans up, kisses him with burning desire. “All you had to do was say the word,” he says and then with a snap, the rope is free. Daryl reaches up and splays his hands over Rick’s back, his fingers hot and desperate. It’s Rick who gasps this time and then Daryl is kissing him, open mouthed and sloppy, but with a single-focused determination that makes Rick’s nerves sing for him.

“Finish in me,” Daryl gasps and tangles his hand in Rick’s hair. “Fucking come in me before she takes this away.” He searches Rick’s eyes and Rick is lost, unable to refuse Daryl what he wants. He swallows and nods and dives back into his mouth because Daryl is right. They have to have this. For this moment, no matter what will come in the future, they have to be together--the broken demon and the angel of the forgotten. So Rick can remember it. So he’ll never forget how Daryl felt under him, how Daryl’s skin was liquid and rolling like the ocean, but all planes and dips like the Earth.

He has to have this. Daryl has to have this. So Rick covers him, presses his body against Daryl as tight as he can, wills their souls to seep through their bodies together like osmosis. Inside Daryl, he moves, deep but faster now, more aggressive, more _desperate_. His tail moves lightning fast on Daryl’s shaft, the spade playing with the head. “Take the halo off,” Rick says, “And when I tell you, let go. So we can do it together.”

“Yes,” Daryl moans and does, the halo flipping off of him and to the side. “ _Yes_. I’m waiting. For you.” Daryl kisses him hard and longing, his fingers digging into Rick’s hair and his back. “I’ll always wait for you.”

“Always come back,” Rick says and Daryl nods.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes. Always. So finish me. _Finish us_.”

Rick nods and tangles his tongue in Daryl’s, pulls out all the way and then slams back in, shoving Daryl into the cloud. Daryl grunts into his mouth and tightens his legs around Rick’s back, clenches himself around Rick’s length. Rick moans out Daryl’s name and Daryl moans out Rick’s and Rick’s tail gives one last little twist, his cock hits Daryl in just that right angle one last time and Rick watches in fascination as the pleasure pours over Daryl, bubbles out of him in wide eyes and an open mouthed loud gasp. Rick feels Daryl’s release hot against his skin and a shiver cascades through his body, playing up and down his spine and Daryl squeezes his ass one last time and it’s all Rick can take and he’s losing himself in him, emptying himself out into Daryl in more than just a physical way. It’s something Earth-shattering, something time-bending, something that shouldn’t be happening in any way, ever. Because Rick doesn’t get this. He doesn’t get moments like this.

But he has one. He has _this_ one _._ And as Daryl brings his mouth up to cover Rick’s, Rick agrees with what Daryl said the other night. This is Heaven. This is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG!
> 
> ["Young God" by Halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUhJRQSs6UQ)


	16. Everything for a Reason

They lie there together, next to each other on the cloud, their pants back on, but nothing else. Rick flicks his tail idly, pushing a puffball around in the air like a tiny balloon and he plays with Daryl’s fingers, tries to memorize each dip and curve of every knuckle and every line and every wrinkle. If anyone walks up to him and asks him if this is Daryl’s fingerprint, he wants to answer. And he wants to know other things. Like how many freckles he has, like how the skin feels on his ankles, how his hipbones dip.

Rick is content. He realizes that. For the first time in a long time, possibly forever, he’s happy. He doesn’t feel so heavy anymore, so dragged down and sullen. Daryl is here beside him and that one simple fact is like its own shining light from the ceiling--Daryl who is so kind to him, so good. Who has never lied or cheated or done anything to Rick other than just be his gorgeous self. Daryl. Who came back.

Rick runs his fingers up Daryl’s thumb again and then pushes their palms together, slides their fingers to lock in. He smiles. “Are you happy?” he asks. “With your dirty, dirty experience?”

Daryl chuckles. “Yeah,” he says and flutters his eyelashes against his cheeks. He bites his lip. “You weren’t holding back on me, right? Was this just incredibly boring sex and you think I can’t handle the real stuff?”

Rick laughs. “No, baby, that was pretty kinky,” he says and runs his tail over Daryl’s chest. “There are plenty of other kinky things we could do to each other.” He grins, his eyes sparkling and lifts Daryl’s hand to start kissing each knuckle. “Later. After I’m rested, I can really show you some stuff.”

Daryl grins. “You’re kind of impossible to deal with.”

Rick laughs again, the sound light and comforting. “Isn’t that what you like about me?” Daryl smiles back and nods, lifts his fingers to Rick’s mouth as Rick keeps on kissing. “Did you get what you wanted?” Rick asks. “All the things checked off so that if God explodes you, you’ll be good?”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “We shouldn’t joke about it just in case she _does_.” He stares up at the ceiling. “This can’t go unpunished. You know that, right?”

Rick sighs and shrugs. He flicks his tail on Daryl’s chest. “It’s God. So yeah. Nothing she does goes unpunished.”

Daryl grunts and squeezes Rick’s hand. “There’s one other thing.”

Rick starts licking at the little hollow between his fingers. “Hmm?”

“That I need to do.”

Rick kisses the back of his hand and slides his lips down, runs his teeth over the smoothness of Daryl’s wrist.

“Before anything happens.”

Rick starts moving down his arm.

“In case anything happens.”

“Okay,” Rick says and looks up at him. “What?”

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Daryl swallows and Rick furrows his brow, feeling the shift in the room. “I mean...I need to…” Daryl sighs. “I need you to know something about me.”

“Okay?” Rick says and releases Daryl’s hand when Daryl sits up.

Daryl sighs again and flicks his wrist at the ground. The remainder of their clothes start to float up and he grabs his shirt, handing Rick his own. He puts the fabric on slowly, tugging it to rest just right against his waist. “It’s...my story, I guess. My life, really. And I need you to know it in case...in case I get taken away and I _can’t_ come back.”

Rick swallows and frowns. He sits up as well and grabs his own shirt, tugs it on to give himself something to do. “That’s not going to happen,” he tells Daryl.

“I know,” Daryl says. “But just to be safe.”

Rick flicks his tail that still won’t leave Daryl’s side. “Fine. If you have to.”

Daryl runs a hand through his hair and his fingers end up on his chin, holding it in place. He stares at the cloud and fidgets with a sock that he hasn’t put back on yet. “This is hard to, um...hard to start.”

“Your story?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re an angel.”

“What?”

“That’s a start. My name is Daryl and I’m an angel.”

Daryl smiles over at him and Rick reaches out to grab his hand, stilling it from where it’s trying to twist the sock into new and interesting shapes. “Just say it,” Rick says with a squeeze. “Just tell me.”

Daryl lets out a puff of a breath. “My name is Daryl and I’m an angel.” He chews on his lip and then continues. “Angels...we spend a lot of time in Heaven. Obviously. So for a long part of my life, I was just…” Daryl waves at the ceiling. “Up there.” He frowns. “And then Michonne gave me a job. To help people. People that were forgotten. Bikers, remember? And the like. So I started.”

“Merle was your first.”

“Yeah.” Daryl nods. “He was my first. He’s my friend. We’re really like brothers.” Daryl frowns again. “Anyway...my job was to help people in their moments of epiphanies. Or weaknesses, I guess. Those special little times. And I was good at it. So good. I started as just a messenger, really. An apprentice or I don’t know what you want to call it. But I kept rising in the ranks. Kept getting _better_. I was faster than anyone else. I was more convincing. I was more full of hope. I had more grace. I had more prayer. I was this shining light of…” Daryl lifts his free hand up and waves it, squeezes Rick’s hand with the other. “...I don’t know. A beacon, I guess. And then...I was the best. I was _it_. I wasn’t just helping, I was the champion. You know?”

Rick nods and keeps quiet, Daryl’s hand still in his. Daryl sighs and looks at the cloud, picks at it. “I don’t know how it is with demons,” Daryl says, “but when an angel goes to work...we hear something. Or feel something. There’s this moment when you know you’re needed and I was really in-tune with it. I would hear it and then fly down and help. I was so proud of what I did. So...pride _ful_.”

Daryl stares at the guestroom wall, at his little spot on it and Rick removes his hand from Daryl’s, but keeps close. “And then I lost someone,” Daryl says. Rick blinks. Daryl sighs and looks down at the cloud again and then slides his gaze to Rick. “I wasn’t fast enough. One time was all it took and then someone was gone. And it was my fault.”

Rick watches him, focuses his attention on Daryl, on the dip in his eyes that are wide and staring at Rick openly, willing him to do something. But Rick doesn’t know what he would do. He doesn’t know what _to_ do. So he remains quiet. “When things like that happen…” Daryl starts and Rick sits up a little straighter, pulls his wings a little into himself. “...it’s not like I _know_ what’s going on. I don’t know who it is or where they are or any of the details. I just _feel_ it. Like a surge of emotion. A moment.”

Rick’s blood suddenly feels cold, the room chilled. His wings fold further into himself and within him, little tendrils of darkness start rising. He wants to stop this. He knows he needs to stop this. He doesn’t want to know. But it’s like an avalanche, now. There’s nothing to be done. So Rick sits through it, his jaw tight. And he waits.

“So there was this moment,” Daryl says, staring at Rick unblinkingly. “I felt this emotional weight. This tangle of energy, of anger and sadness and grief and rage. I felt it _in my bones_ , someone calling out for help. Someone desperate. Someone who needed me. Who needed the light.” Daryl sighs, but he still won’t look away. Rick holds his gaze coolly and tries to stop the trembling of his limbs. “And I couldn’t find them.” Daryl’s eyes curl up, his mouth deepens and his shoulder sags in a shrug. “I tried. _I tried_. But I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t good enough. Even though I thought I was. I lost them. I was supposed to be there. And I wasn’t. I lost.”

Daryl sighs and looks at Rick’s hand, reaches out for it slowly. Rick pulls it away involuntarily, just a twitch of the muscles and curls his tail back around his own body. Daryl swallows. “I didn’t know who it was,” he tells Rick. “I thought I never would. But…” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and then opens them again, catches Rick’s gaze, but it’s not like it has been. It’s not gravity and it’s not pulling. All Rick wants to do is look away. But he can’t. He’s trapped like a fly in a jar and he feels helpless. Devoid. “But then...in the closet? When you showed me? Remember? Your well?” Rick doesn’t respond except to swallow and tuck his legs under himself. “When it hit me…” Daryl shrugs. “I knew. I knew I had felt it before.” Daryl takes one big shuddering breath and nods as if to give himself courage. “I knew it was you. That I had lost.”

Rick finally looks away, finally breaks the hold that Daryl has over him. He swings his head to stare at the wall and glares at it, finds a spot where the paint is just slightly uneven and gives it all his hate. He’s shaking, but he won’t talk. He can’t. Speech seems so trivial right now, so inadequate. The little tendrils grow, fan out into his nerves and old sayings float to the surface. _You’ll be free_. _Fuck all of them_. Emotion pours through Rick like water through a sieve and little pebbles keep catching in his mind--all the hate and all the blame and all the guilt and all the shrieking hopelessness, all directed upward, all thrown back up to God. _Why weren’t you there for me_? Only it wasn’t God who wasn’t there. It wasn’t God that he should have been blaming for all these years.

“Rick,” Daryl says, his voice pained and Rick hates him for it. He doesn’t get this. He doesn’t deserve _pain in his voice_. It’s borrowed, poached, _stolen_ pain. It’s Rick’s pain in Daryl’s throat and Rick wants to kill him for it. “Rick,” Daryl says again and reaches out. He touches the smoothness of Rick’s arm before Rick jerks away. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Daryl asks and Rick wants to punch him, wants to scream, but neither his limbs nor his voice will move. “It was you. You’re the first person I lost. You made me who I am. It had to happen for me to be this. Right now. I had to lose something so I could get rid of the pride. So I could become humble. And it made me a better angel. It made me save others.”

_But not me_ , Rick thinks. _Others, but not me_. He tries to say it, but he fails. His jaw won’t come unlocked, his voice won’t break. Which means that Daryl says it for him. “And it’s going to make me save you. You and Judith.”

_Save me_? Rick wants to scream. Save me from what? From you? There’s nothing for him to be saved from except the deep gash of his abandonment that’s been cut open and laid bare like flesh torn from the bone.

“Rick,” Daryl tries again, but he must feel the coolness that Rick’s body is giving off in waves, because he doesn’t try to touch. “Please...will you say something?”

Rick blinks and stares at the paint spot again and then, in one sudden rush like a gust of wind through the plains, he’s calm. His wings stop shaking, his tail stops flicking, his heart calms down its wild and angered beat. He pulls air into his lungs slowly, takes it in and then lets it out again. _No_ , he thinks.

“Please,” Daryl is trying again. “Please talk to me?”

But why would he? What is there to say? _Talking_ is for resolutions. Talking is for action or for peace or for discussion. And what is there to discuss? With a sudden clarity, it hits Rick’s mind like the Arctic Ocean hitting warm skin. There’s nothing to resolve. So there’s nothing to say.

He scoots to the edge of the cloud and drops down, lands on the floor in his human appearance. He tugs at his bracelets to get them situated just right and cracks his neck to the side, staring at a space that’s not quite in front of him. “Rick,” Daryl says again, but Rick barely hears him, barely registers the sound. He moves forward with a click of his heels and walks toward the guestroom door, opens it and closes it not with a bang or a snap, but with an indifference that’s surrounded by years and decades of the paper thin survival that Rick has woven like a fog over his life.

Because in this arena, Rick doesn’t lose. In this world, the world of deserted and discarded things, the world of fevers that never burn out, agonies that never subside, Rick always prevails. In fact, he wins every damn time.


	17. Little Sisters

Rick’s mind won’t leave him be. It hasn’t been like this since before he got his wings, since Carl and all the shit he went through with that. He feels vulnerable, human, and no matter how much he tries, he can’t staunch the thoughts that bubble up to the surface and stick in the forefront of his mind like flytrap paper. Old tactics like avoidance and deflection do nothing to stop the flow of words ticking across his mind like a news banner-- _Loss. Betrayal. Abandonment. Pride. Anger. Grief. Guilt_.

So he goes away. Distances himself. Falls back on a tactic a lot older than humor or trickery. No, this one goes back far, far into Rick’s past. Back to the days in which his momma carted him around, pulling at his arm and scolding him-- _Richard, stop doing that_. _Don’t pout, don’t wallow. Sit up straight. Be a man_.

But he has to do this. He has to find a place, a quiet place. And then he has to let it all in, _think about it_. And when he’s done thinking about it maybe then he can set it aside, lock it up in his box of magic tricks next to Carl’s eyes and that look on Jessie’s face, that plain and drawn out mouth. _What else did he expect her to do?_

Because that’s where Daryl belongs now. There and nowhere else.

Rick flies into the night that’s just starting to crest into day, the gray outlines of the horizon threatening dawn. He wants to stave it off, wants to stop the sun from appearing, wants the rest of the world to feel the deep smothering darkness that he does. But the sun rises nonetheless and time keeps turning, despite how much Rick wishes and wishes and wishes he could turn it back. Not so that he could be in Daryl’s arms again, because he remembers what that’s like and fuck, if he wanted to, he could right now. He could turn on his wings with dime-like precision and fall back into the guestroom cloud, let it all go.

But of course he won’t. Because that isn’t what he wants. Because it’s just as impossible to turn around as it is to turn back time and it would get him nowhere anyway. No, what he wants, what he desires more than anything else in the whole of existence, is ignorance. Why did Daryl tell him? Why did he have to? If they were happy, if Rick didn’t know...why ruin that? There’s no going back from this. Doesn’t Daryl understand? There’s no fixing it. So why did he break it?

Rick flies until he finds a good spot on top of a hill, deep in the woods and away from the city. The place is level and there are a few stumps still sticking out of the ground that remain charred. Forest fire, Rick thinks. Perfect.

He lands next to one of the blackened trunks and stares at it a moment before walking over to look at the valley that spreads out before him. Others would call this poetic, Rick thinks. The gift of God. _It’s good to pause for the occasional reminder_.

Rick hates himself.

He hates everything about the world, the darkness of it, the agony of the Earth under his feet and the god awful _pity_ in every grass blade, every puff of wind. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a second to center himself, and then he lets it in. Lets the well fill up.

Epiphany. That’s what Daryl had called it. An epiphany. Rick goes back to that moment, back to how he _felt_ , the uncomfortable bed underneath him, his knees pulled up to his chest. The metal had echoed the voices back at him, their taunting laughs, and his eyelids had pressed close to his cheeks, willed his eyes to stay shut. He had poured words out of his mouth silently, felt the breath and puncture of each syllable on his teeth and tongue, felt each word like the smack of hammers driving him further and further away. Carl was dead by then. And Jessie might as well have been.

_Help me_. How many people in there had said those same words? Rick wasn’t special. He _isn’t_ special. He knew that then and he knows it now. He wasn’t the only man to lose his son, wasn’t the only one to fly off the deep end, to destroy his marriage in the process. And he’s sure he wasn’t the only one that made the final choice--leather over soft down feathers, horns over halo. But in that moment, he had felt like it. He had cried out for anything, just to be given _one sign_. One small something to let him know that it was going to be okay. One friend in the world, one action that said he didn’t have to keep going like he was, one thought, one feeling to tell him that he could get through this. That he could come back from this. He had laid himself out, spread before God in supplication, in need, in, yes, humility. But God never answered. God was silent. And that was that.

Only it wasn’t God, was it? Rick sets his jaw tight, grinds his teeth together. There was an angel up there in Heaven sitting on his ass, thinking about how perfect he was and when Rick cried out for help, when he cast that call up to the sky and opened his heart to say _I am hurting and I can’t do it alone, I need you_ , he _kept_ sitting on his ass. Wasn’t _fast_ enough, Daryl had said. Wasn’t trying hard enough. Because that’s the implication, isn’t it? That after Daryl lost his pride, he _tried harder_. That he was slow not because he gave it everything he had in him, but because he was _complacent_. Because he thought he could get to Rick in time and so he didn’t care about _actually_ getting to him in time. That Rick was the invisible line in the sand--the moment in which Daryl had told himself, whatever, he’d get to it in a minute.

Which also means that Rick’s suffering was hollow. That Daryl felt it, sure, but that he didn’t care about it enough to do his best to resolve it. That Rick’s agony didn’t beckon him onward, that he didn’t _care_ , that it was just a job. But it wasn’t just a job. Not to Rick. It was _everything_ , that moment sitting there in the darkness, those concrete walls _enclosing_ , knowing that Jessie had been so close and already gone, her shoes light on the pavement, the click of the car door as she opened it, the headlights coming on and then driving away. Did she cry? Rick never knew. He didn’t give enough of a fuck to find out.  

Rick’s heart died that night. It was all gone in just a wisp of a moment, Carol’s hand warm under his, righteous with fire. And Daryl hadn’t cared. Had flown lazily to Earth and found him already gone.

So fuck him. Fuck him for not telling Rick right away, the instant he knew. And fuck him _for_ telling Rick _at all_ and not just keeping it locked up in his own chest, keeping the words swallowed down like a bitter pill.

The wind picks up in the valley and ghosts through Rick’s hair, rattles his wings. He frowns and he senses Maggie’s presence long before she speaks, the rage of her aura as familiar to Rick as the first snowflakes of winter to a deer. “Hey, Fuck Face,” she greets him and Rick casts an exasperated look over his shoulder. Of course she would be here now. Of course Carol would send her.

“Mags,” he returns. She lands from where she was hovering, her gigantic black wings folding back as she shifts. Rick hasn’t seen her be human for so long it startles him and he takes in the subtlety of her transformation. Like Rick, she doesn’t look exactly as she did all those years ago. She takes on his blackness, morphing in to make it her own. She is, in so many ways, his daughter, his niece, his little sister. The thing that he made and now uses as a broken symbol of family.

Rick shifts, too, beside her, shimmering into his human attire and they look over the valley. Maggie’s hair is black like Rick’s, her skin tan like his. She has little upside-down crosses in her ears and a frown worn into her face. She’s wearing a three-fourths length coat with a high collar that touches her knees and black jeans, black combat boots with red laces. Rick is proud of her.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

Maggie shrugs and starts flickering her fingers. Rick watches as little blades of grass catch on fire and burn out before she moves on to new ones. “I could just _feel_ that you were massively unhappy and I don’t want to miss out on _that_ ,” she tells him, but looks over to the side and shrugs. “Am kind of pissed, though, to be honest. No one should fuck you up like I fuck you up.”

Rick is rather inclined to agree. No one _should_ be making him remember those dark days like Maggie does. But here they are, huh?

“What a time to be alive, though,” Maggie says and creates a big ball of fire between her hands. She sends it soaring up into the sky to hit a passing pigeon which squawks as it dies. “Just to think,” she says and laughs, “that the fucking _angel_ you were _fucking_ was _THE ANGEL_ that _fucked you up_. It’s hilarious!” She laughs again. “This pleases me.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “So you came to gloat.”

“No,” Maggie says with a shake of her head. “I mean, yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I gloat? I hate you, remember? Fuck you. But Carol also told me to come up here.”

Rick frowns. “Why?”

“She said you needed a reminder.”

Rick sets his jaw and shakes his head. “I don’t, anymore.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” Maggie tells him with a hard stare. “You’re mad, sure. You’re pissed and you’re upset, but what the fuck are you going to do about it?”

Rick furrows his brow. “What?”

“ _What_ are you going to do about it?” Maggie asks again and ticks her fingers together, creating little slashes of fire that weave and burn. “He _fucked_ with you, Rick. He didn’t tell you and then he did and so _what_ ,” Maggie stares at him, her green eyes dark and devoid of anything except for the echos of Hell’s rage, “are you going,” she licks her lips, “to do,” grins, “about it?”

Everything clicks for Rick, slides into place like the gears of a clock striking one. He smiles, slow and subtle, and shakes himself back to demon. His wings flap of their own accord, his tail lays flat against his legs and his horns shine in the sunlight cast about on the hill. “I’m going to make him suffer,” Rick says.

Maggie grins, all white, pointed teeth. “Eye for an eye,” she whispers.

“Tooth for a tooth,” Rick responds.

“Heart for a heart,” Maggie finishes, the fire in her hands burning blood red. Rick grins slowly, wickedly, the dark tendrils fitting his veins to size, Maggie holding him up with her hissing laughter.


	18. Big Brothers

Maggie and Rick fly to the house together, bumping and crashing into one another along the way, hissing and spitting their tangled hatred and love. Maggie sends tendrils of fire shooting at Rick’s side and Rick whaps her with his tail, pushes her with a gust of wind into a tree at one point. They talk quickly as they go, chattering as demons tend to do, and Maggie says that she’s going to stay in the neighborhood, even though she doesn’t think she’ll sleep in the house. Rick tells her about Gareth’s apartment and she says she’ll check it out.

It feels almost like old times. Down in Hell, they were practically inseparable, friends to the bitter end, even though you wouldn’t know it by watching them bite and scratch at one another. But Maggie’s rage needs an outlet and Rick’s depression needs a distraction, so it was always the perfect mess of socialization. Misery loves company and all that.

Now, they zip and zag around each other, Rick quicker and Maggie stronger, and they make it back to the house just as Lori is sitting Judith in her high chair for breakfast. Rick lands in the yard and carefully opens the front door, sneaks in and closes it before Lori can turn around to see. When Rick and Maggie curve into the living room and into sight, Judith smacks at her chair and says, “LA!” with feeling. Rick smiles at her and flicks his tail.

“My little monster,” he says, motioning at her. Maggie grunts. “She’s all I’ve got left.”

“And me,” Maggie says with a quick smack to the back of his head. “Got me, too.”

Rick concedes the point and walks cautiously through the house. Other than Lori and Judith, it’s empty, so Rick shows Maggie around, makes doubly sure that she knows where his roost is and that he won’t be leaving it anytime soon. He waves dismissively at the guestroom and Maggie gives a grunt of acknowledgement. He shows her the study and all the books that he’s bent back, the roller chair that’s still caught on one wheel. Maggie nods along, yawning aggressively at the tour.

And then, out of nowhere, they’re both blown over by a strong gust of wind that sings with the high-pitched wailing of Heaven and light busts in around Rick’s eyeballs. “Son of a _bitch_!” he growls out.

“Is that your angel?” Maggie asks over the chorus of gospel music that’s now rattling around in Rick’s brain like a nail in a Coke can.

“Fuck no!” Rick cries back, thinking about seeing Daryl for the first time, the highlights in his hair and the wings on his vest. But if it’s not Daryl, it must mean--

“Another one?” Maggie asks in exasperation and Rick huffs, picks his feet up under himself and flies out the back door, swinging around the house and searching. It doesn’t take him too long to find the new angel parked out on the lawn, his arms held out to his sides and his face arched up to the light shining down.

Rick pauses and dives into a bush, hides himself so that he doesn’t have to interact with the new douchewad unless he needs to. “Oh, baby brother!” the new angel calls, shaking his arms out at the sky like a preacher on Sunday. “Your help has arrived!”

Rick hears a strong groan and turns his head slowly to see Daryl coming from the side of the house with the willow tree. He frowns and curses himself for not checking the yard. “Hey, Merle,” Daryl says, running a hand through his hair. Merle’s music gets louder. “Stop that,” Daryl grates out, “or do you want the demons to come plow you over?”

Merle snorts, but the music dies down. He folds his large, snowy white wings up against his back and reaches up to spin his silver halo like a record. “Demon _s_. Plural?”

Daryl frowns. “Saw Rick come in a couple of minutes ago with another one. A girl.”

“Hmm,” Merle says and looks incredibly bored. “You rang?”

Daryl shrugs and shuffles his feet, walking around in a tiny circle. “I didn’t ring.”

“Sure you did. Heard your little pitiful cries. Trouble in paradise?”

Daryl sets his jaw and shrugs again, toes a rock with his foot. “How pissed is she at me?”

“Chonnie? Oh, pretty pissed, I gather. Kind of hard to tell with that expression on her face all the time, though. She’s disappointed in everything. I swear, she thinks that fish are disobeying her.”

“ _I_ disobeyed her.”

“Damn skippy you did,” Merle concedes. “And, man, I gotta tell you, you are a _dumbass_. We’ve been talking about it up at the Feather Club. Tyreese bet his baby baptising duties that she was going to pluck your wings straight from your back. He’s kind of pissed he lost.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “My life isn’t a betting game.”

Merle shrugs. “Well, you’ve not been talking to us. What the hell else are we supposed to do?”

Daryl frowns heavily again and shakes his head, walks in another circle. “Merle, what is she going to do to me?”

Merle looks away, just a skip of his eyes to the side, before he’s back to staring at Daryl. “‘Bout that,” he says.

Daryl blinks. “So you _didn’t_ come down because of my cry for help.”

Merle is silent, but he shrugs, lifting his wings with his shoulders as they go. Daryl swallows. “Look, I…” Daryl says with a sigh, “I don’t want to beg.”

Merle shakes his head. “Daryl--”

“No, look. Let me say this.” Daryl walks up to him, gesturing wildly. “I’m close. Okay? Just give me a little longer. Tell her to give me a little longer. I can bring Judy to the light and…” He nods to himself. “I can bring Rick to the light, too.” Rick narrows his eyes. “He’s got good in him, Merle, I can _see it_. And I fucked him up, alright? All those years ago. I have to make it better and he _can_ be better. I can cure him. I _know_ I can.” Daryl dips his head and catches Merle’s eyes. “I can make him an angel.”

Rick’s blood boils in his veins and he has to still his tail from thumping in the brush and alerting the angels to his presence. _Make him an angel_. When did Rick ever ask for that? Rick sends a prayer down to Carol that Merle will tell Daryl no.

And Carol must be in a good mood today, because Merle just shakes his head. “Daryl, I can’t stop it.”

Daryl steps forward, gets more desperate in his gestures. “You can’t stop it? Merle, she is going to _punish me_. What is she going to do? Take my wings? My halo? My _grace_? I can’t let that happen. I can’t be powerless. Rick needs me to guide him. I _have_ to. Don’t you understand?”

“No, baby brother, I get it. Believe you me, I do.”

Daryl stares at him. “Then can you just... _not_ punish me?”

Merle bites his lip and then shakes his head slowly, tilting it from side to side. Daryl swallows. “Why not?”

“Because,” Merle says and his wings flutter, “it’s already happened.”

Daryl frowns and takes a step back away from him, glancing down his body and checking himself. He lifts his wings, touches his halo, makes sure all his body parts are there. And then he looks up slowly at Merle and even from the bushes, Daryl can see the fear in his eyes, wide and hollow. “What--”

“He doesn’t love you anymore,” Merle says, snapping the sentence out and wincing at his own tone. He swallows and continues. “Rick doesn’t love you anymore.”

Daryl’s mouth falls open and he blinks rapidly, stumbling back. Rick watches as his wings sag, as his halo, incredibly, spins off its orbit and falls a couple of inches closer to Daryl’s head. “ _What_?” Daryl asks.

“He did,” Merle tells him and then looks away at the ground. “Rick loved you. But he doesn’t now. That’s what I came to say.”

“You’re lyin’ to me,” Daryl snaps, his words rolling together like an avalanche.

Merle shakes his head and then looks across the yard, straight at Rick. “Ask him yourself.” Rick’s hackles raise. _Angels_. But what is there left to do?

So Rick stands and brushes the bits of plant off of himself, avoiding both of their gazes. He knows that they’re looking at him with their undivided attention, that they’re waiting for him to act or speak like a ticking bomb that the bomb squad has given up on. Good, Rick thinks. He’ll make them wait. He spends as much time as he wants picking the twigs out of his hair and fluffing his wings out to his side in a ripple. And then when he’s ready--only when _he’s_ ready, because he’s not on Daryl’s time frame--he looks up, straight into Daryl’s deep blue eyes that don’t look quite as sensational anymore, but rather boring and dull.

He holds Daryl’s gaze and lets the seconds tick by, lets Daryl search his soul for everything he’s looking for and nothing he’s going to find. And when Daryl flickers his gaze away, when his shoulders sag further and his wings tighten into themselves, Rick turns slowly to the house and walks inside of it.

***

Daryl follows him. Rick’s skin crawls with the sensation of being pursued, but he’s a demon and he doesn’t show weakness. They’re in the living room when Daryl reaches forward and grabs Rick’s wrist, tries to pull him to a stop. Rick lashes out with his full fury, the same as he would for any other human or demon that tried to touch him. He strikes with his nails, catching Daryl’s skin and marking it as he throws a hiss over his shoulder. Daryl stumbles back and holds his wrist to his chest, watches Rick with wide, searching eyes. “Rick--” he starts but Rick _does not want to hear it._ He has _heard enough_.

“Don’t fucking start,” Rick says and is proud of himself at how exasperated his voice sounds, how dull and bored and cold the tone is. Daryl opens his mouth and tilts his head, tries to give Rick pity. “No,” Rick tells him, “you don’t get to say anything. Shut the fuck up and go away.”

But Daryl tries again, comes forward and goes to touch him, starts with Rick’s name. Rick stumbles back outside of his grasp and _unleashes_. “No,” he tells Daryl, “ _No._ Let me go ahead and do this for you,” he spits. “Let me just _guess_ what you’re going to say. ‘Rick, I am so, _so_ sorry,’” Rick growls. “It looks like I fucked up your life. _My bad_. But you know what, it’s okay. Right? Because I’m an _angel_ and I understand _that everything happens for a reason_. So let me go ahead and _impart_ that knowledge to you.” Rick takes a step toward Daryl and is happy beyond belief when he watches Daryl step back. “Rick, you had to suffer and that is _so sad_ for you, but it’s okay. It made me _humble_. It made me a better angel so I could go save _puppies_ and teach babies how to say _love_. So it’s okay that you went through all of those things. Because now _I’m_ a better person. Is that about what you’re going to say?” Rick asks and when Daryl opens his mouth, Rick cuts him off. “It’s alright, Rick, that you had to go through that. It’s okay that your son died. It’s okay that he never got to grow old, that he never got to feel what it was like to kiss someone, that he never graduated or got a job or found a wife or had kids of his own. It’s okay that he died when he was _ten years old_ in a town that he didn’t even fucking know. It’s okay that your wife left you. It’s _totally okay_ , Rick, that you destroyed two families in the process and it’s perfectly _fine_ that when you were crying in a fucking prison cell in the middle of the fucking night asking God for _fucking help_ , that I didn’t come. And it’s okay,” Rick says and lets his voice get quieter, lets it dip down softly so that it will really sink in, so that Daryl will remember this moment for the rest of his life, so that it will burn guilt into his heart, stamp Rick’s name across his veins like a cattle brand and never let him sleep, “that you had to make that choice alone. That you had to choose Carol because there was nothing left for you. _Nothing_. Because every single one of the people you loved were dead or gone and you had destroyed yourself and you couldn’t come back from it. _That’s_ okay. Because everything happens for a reason. And I’m _humble now_.”

Daryl stares at him unblinkingly, still holding his wrist, silent and stoic in the living room like a statue. The frown on his face is deep and the corners of his eyes are downcast. Rick watches in awe as he takes a step backward from Rick’s fury and that tiny little movement unhinges Rick again. “But that’s not all, is it?” Rick asks. “That’s not all you want to say. Because you also want to ask me how you can make it better. Well, I’m going to tell you right now, Daryl. Right here and right up front, you can’t. You can spend the rest of your miserable life trying if you want to and I don’t give a fuck if that’s what will keep you going at night, but there is _nothing_ that you can do. You can’t give me back my son. You can’t give me back the life he lost or the decades _I’ve_ lost. And you can’t give me back that choice.” Rick laughs hollowly. “You _angels_ ,” he spits. “You think you know everything, but you don’t. You’ve never been human, Daryl. You’ve never known what it feels like. And what is your game plan, anyway? _To cure me_? Make me an angel, _just_ like you? Well, there’s one thing that you seem to have missed.” Rick glares. “I don’t want to be one. I _don’t want to be you_. Maybe, at one point in time in my life, I did. Maybe when I was making that choice, I did. But you know what? _I made it_. I’m a demon. It’s _who I am_. It’s not a side effect of sadness. It’s not a sickness that you get to _cure_. I _never_ have and _never_ will want to be one of you. _I don’t_. And you know what the sad thing is? I thought you understood that. I thought when you _fucked me_ , you saw who I was. But you didn’t. Because if you _see_ me, if you _loved_ me in _any_ way, you would know that the demon _is_ me and I _am_ the demon. You can’t have one without the other. Because what I am _without_ the demon is _dead_. It died the night my son did and you _never knew_ that man. You _never knew him_. Because I’m _not_ him and how _dare_ you try, how fucking _dare_ you try to change me. I am not a trophy for your _forgotten collection_. I’m not your next big score. I’m a fucking _person_ and if you had any respect for me, if you ever had any feelings for me, you would have damn well _asked_ me upfront what I wanted. But you didn’t. Because you angels always think you fucking know better, don’t you? That you know what the _reason_ is.”

Rick falls into silence, lets his anger seethe out into room and make it ice-cold. Daryl is blinking now, huddled into himself and it takes a long time before he makes a move to speak. “I’ll do anything,” he says when he finally gets his voice under him.

Rick barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “There’s nothing _to_ do.” He shrugs. “But you know what? Maybe you’re right.” Rick waves a hand dismissively. “Maybe this was all for the best. Maybe the _reason_ that all this happened was so that I wasn’t distracted anymore. Because there is no way,” Rick says and lets his eyes scan over Daryl’s body disapproving, “that I’m going to be distracted now. So I can go on and raise Judy. I can make her the very _best_ little evil girl that she can be.” Rick’s eyes twinkle in the living room light. “Because I have _nothing_ to stop me now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully Rick's motivations make sense now. :) Also, note that this the end of Book One. Book Two starts promptly on Tuesday! 
> 
> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [Make This Go On Forever by Snow Patrol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pF-tWqo2-M)
> 
> AND a beta rec by Skari! 
> 
> [Rolling in the Deep by Adele](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYEDA3JcQqw)


	19. Book II: How the Day Goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of Book Two! Thank you guys for reading so far and I hope you like the second half of the fic! Also, please note that I am releasing a lot of tags today for the remainder of the story.

It’s a warm summer day, but there’s a nice breeze floating through and Rick flies and tumbles and cartwheels through the air with Maggie in a large backyard in a different suburb with a different willow tree and a different house. Below them, Judith giggles and runs around, trying to catch the various walnuts they throw down to her. The score is fourteen for sixteen and Rick really thinks that the first miss was a foul on Maggie’s part. He’s bitched about it endlessly, made sure that Maggie knows _exactly_ what he thinks.

In the corner on a lawn chair, Merle basks with sunglasses on and his wings draped about him like discarded newspaper, tanning even though his skin never changes a single shade. Daryl is nowhere to be found, but then he wouldn’t be. It’s three in the afternoon and ever since Judith’s third birthday, he disappears like clockwork at noon to show up back at five everyday. No one knows where he goes and Rick hasn’t bothered to ask.

Judith is eight now, with strong legs and limber arms. She’s a little on the skinny side for a girl her age and tall. She likes to keep her caramel-colored hair up, pulled tight on the back of her head. Rick keeps watching it get darker as she gets older and wonders what color it will end up as, if it with be closer to Lori’s chestnut or Shane’s black. It’s wispy and wavy, not quite her daddy’s curls, not quite her mother’s straight. Her eyes are deep brown pools, but they’re quick and intelligent, mocking and sinister.

There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind whose kid she is.

Rick has spent every waking minute with her--from the nursery and potty-training to learning how to read to going to school for the first time. He follows her everywhere and she’s learned when to acknowledge him and when to not. She knows she’s different, special. She also knows what Rick is doing, that Rick is teaching her evil. He won’t lie to her, his little monster. And because of it, she’s his.

She does have a relationship with Daryl. Rick can’t really stop that and he tolerates it only for Judith’s sake. But their relationship has always seemed forced to him, always fighting to be more than surface level. He thinks it’s probably because Daryl is distracted, because he pours himself into books and sits alone in his room, because he’s gone for half the time. Rick is dedicated and Daryl isn’t. And that’s fine.

So Judith has grown up with Rick. And Rick has taught her well. He made her pay attention in class until it became blatantly obvious that she was smarter than any of her teachers. At that point, Rick started teaching her on his own, started guiding her in the information that he thought that she needed. What she didn’t get from him, she sought out through her own methods. She’s always been independent, quick-witted, shrewd. She’s made three of her teachers cry. Rick is so proud of her.

And now it’s the summer after her eighth birthday and the house is all theirs to use. Lori is at work. She’s been a nurse now for two years, having received her degree when Judith was six and she makes good money. Between that and Shane’s child support check, they have more than enough to go around.

Lori has finally found a babysitter that’s stuck, a teenage boy named Noah that Judith more-or-less gets along with. He sees strange things sometimes--books that float on their own, Judith laughing at jokes never said--but he doesn’t talk of it and for the most part, he sticks to the living room, texting his friends, and lets Judith do her own thing.

Which is how Rick and Maggie can zoom around like bullets with walnuts, dropping them on Judith’s head with demon cackles. Maggie swoops around the chimney and flies low over the roof and then dips with a little crackle of her wings. She grabs a happily shrieking Judith under her arms and flips her up into the air, grabs her legs and spins her around until Judith cries out that she’s dizzy.

Maggie drops her like a rock, but Rick is there to catch her, because he always is. She lands in his arms with a little oomph and Rick smiles at her, spins her to make her even more dizzy and then deposits her in the grass in the center of the yard. Maggie throws a walnut at Merle, which wakes him up and he starts grumbling about demons without any manners and how is he supposed to get his tan when he keeps getting distracted from _focusing_ on it?

All in all, it’s a pretty damn typical summer vacation day.

At four, they all head inside. Maggie makes extra sour lemonade, which she tricks Merle into trying and then rolls on the floor in laughter when he spits it all over the counter. After that’s done, she focuses on bugging the shit out of Noah, making his text messages disappear and his phone freeze.

Rick takes Judith into the study and makes her work on her constellations. She already really has them all down, but practice never hurts and Rick wants to make sure she knows them like the back of her hand.

She lounges on the study couch and flips through her book. “You fly by them?” she asks Rick, leafing between Libra and Ophiuchus.

Rick nods and adds a little grunt for emphasis. He lays out on the back of the couch and flips his tail back and forth on Judith’s shoulder. She bats it away, but it comes back to her. “I wish I could fly,” she says and flips the page.

“You will one day,” he tells her.

“I wonder what my wings will be like. Do you get to pick your color?”

Rick laughs. “No, I don’t think you can.”

“Bet you could dye them if you wanted to,” Judith says.

Rick scoffs. “Not feathers. Too delicate.”

“Well, I’m not going to have feathers,” she tells him precisely. “Angel wings are too bulky. Too big. I want to be quick, like you. That way they can’t catch me.”

Rick frowns. “Who would be trying to catch you?”

Judith shrugs. “Everyone. People I don’t want to.” She tosses the book aside. “Punch, I’m _bored_. Where is my dog? Where the hell did Dumbass go?”

Rick chuckles. “I think Merle said he was going to give him a bath. Couldn’t stand that skunk smell anymore.”

Judith rolls her eyes. “Stupid dog. Why do I have a stupid dog?”

“Because I tried to drown it and it looked at me funny.”

Judith laughs at him and sits up straighter, turning on the couch to look at him. “Tell me a story,” she says, lifting her chin in defiance.

Rick grins and studies his nails. “Once upon a time, there was a princess--”

“--she was ugly and we hated her and she always wore pink, which is stupid because girls are more than just the color pink,” Judith adds.

“Yes,” Rick says and reaches out to poke her forehead. “And there was a prince--”

“--who was this awful jerky douche and was mean to all his servants and wore tights like a pansy.”

“And a witch--”

“--who everyone thought was the villain, but was actually the hero, because she killed all the boring, stupid people who wouldn’t stop wearing pink tights.”

Rick laughs. “You tell stories better than I do.”

“That’s because I’m smart,” Judith says, flashing her wicked smile. She starts to open her mouth to say something else, but Rick hears the door open and close out in the front of the house and hears the low murmur of voices. “Daryl’s home,” Judith says and stands up, grabs her book. She walks to the doorway and then pauses. “Do angels fly by the stars, too?”

Rick snorts. “No, they fly during the day.”

Judith scoffs. “Well, that’s stupid. All you would have to look at would be the sun.”

Rick smiles as she walks out and looks up at the ceiling and the little stain that he had put there last Christmas when he was being petulant that everyone was looking at the Christmas tree and not him. He gives Daryl fifteen minutes alone with Judith before he goes and finds her again, hangs around her like her second shadow. She’s used to it by now. In fact, if he ever _did_ leave, he’d be worried about her sanity. Not that he’s likely to. His place is right there next to her.

***

Seven o’clock comes and Lori is home for dinner, which means that like clockwork, Rick switches into his human appearance and bangs into the new guestroom that Daryl has made his own, crawls up on the cloud to straddle him with that familiar snap of his hips and starts grinding down. Daryl grunts and frowns over the book he’s studying and Rick snatches it out of his hand, throws it to the wall and grins inwardly in glee as it smacks into the window and falls down, its pages bent and crumpled.

“I’m bored,” Rick whines, as he always does, “so you’re going to fuck me.”

He rolls his hips and smirks wickedly as Daryl’s lower body twitches upward involuntarily. Daryl frowns and doesn’t say anything, so Rick starts ripping at his clothes, tossing both of their pants off. He always prepares himself before he even walks in, doesn’t give Daryl the satisfaction of seeing his fingers or tail slide into himself, stretching them out for Daryl. Because this isn’t about him. Fuck him. Every second of every day is now about Rick. Daryl needs to give it to him like rat poison filling up the nest and Rick takes it, steals it, owns it, sucks the toxin into his lungs like cigarette smoke and basks in it.

He has Daryl’s cock in his hand and then has Daryl’s cock _inside_ him in the space of sixty seconds in pure, practiced rhythm. Rick starts riding, pulling his hips up and then slamming them down expertly. He’s learned by now how to make it quick and dirty, how to make it feel so exceptionally good and how to make it hurt so exceptionally bad.

He throws his head back and stares up at the ceiling, works his hips up and down on Daryl, angles them to find that special spot inside of himself. Daryl fits him like a mold and Rick revels in it. It’s not like it used to be--geometry pieces that Michonne crafted out of clay for one another. It’s impersonal now, like Daryl’s cock was made at a factory to Rick’s specifications, little boxes ticked off on a sheet--this high, this wide, this curve.

Daryl moans despite himself and reaches forward to touch, digs his nails into Rick’s hipbones. Rick gives a little grunt and grabs his left hand, curves it up his own body and under the shirt that’s still on so that Daryl can tweak his nipple. “Rick,” Daryl breathes into the air and Rick moans over the word so he doesn’t have to hear it.

He pulls upwards hard and slams back down, rocking his hips against Daryl’s groin. Daryl cries out softly into the room and so Rick does it again, makes it hard, makes it _hurt_. Daryl shuts up and lets Rick go back to it, moving on him both liquid smooth and pebble rough, like fresh road construction laying down new pavement. Daryl’s breaths are coming in hitches now, but he knows, he _knows_ not to come.

Rick reaches down and starts stroking himself, pulls at his own cock viciously, but with just the right pressure, with just the right angles. And then he’s there, right at the precipice. He pulls off of Daryl and grunts as he comes, streaking Daryl’s shirt and staining it. Daryl comes, too, but Rick makes sure not to get any on him because how the fuck would Daryl deserve that?

And then it’s over by seven fifteen.

Rick wipes his dick off on Daryl’s underwear and throws it in a wad at Daryl’s chest. He scoots off the cloud and lands with ease, goes back to tugging his pants on.

“Rick,” Daryl says and that’s part of it all, too. Rick grunts again, but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge him. “Please,” Daryl tries for the umpteenth time, “please talk to me? Tell me what happened. Please? Tell me about Carl.”

Rick’s stopped saying the obvious things at this point, things like _fuck you_ and _leave me alone_. Now, Daryl is just greeted with silence and they both understand it for what it is, Rick’s cold seething indifference.

Rick shakes himself out and leaves the room, closes the door behind him. He doesn’t know what Daryl does from seven fifteen until eight, but he hopes that it hurts. He hopes it’s something like wailing or crying, some small little token to balance out the all the hurt that Rick has had to stomach, all the desperation that is, when you boil it down to size, Daryl’s negligence.

***

At night, they play games. Usually it’s Life, because Judith is fascinated by it, but sometimes it’s Aggravation or Scrabble or, god forbid because Rick can’t stand what a little shit Merle is at it, Monopoly. Tonight is an Aggravation kind of night and Rick is yellow. To his right is Judith because that’s an unspoken rule that no one ever bitches about because the last time someone tried to get between Rick and Judith, Judith was three and Merle lost one of his front teeth because of it. Unfortunately, Daryl healed it back, but that’s beside the point.

To Rick’s left is Maggie and then to the other side of Judith, clockwise is Merle and then Daryl. The only color on the board not used is pink because Judith has banned it ever since Maggie started cackling that it was good luck. It’s Judith’s turn now and she’s on a roll, likely to win as she usually does. She’s cold and calculated and she doesn't give a shit how much she sets you back. If she can win, she’s going to and Rick loves her.

He loves her with more of a burning passion than he’s ever cared about anyone--not even Carl or Jessie, not even Maggie, and certainly more than Daryl. He gave in years ago. In fact, it wasn’t so much giving in as clinging to the one thing he had left, the one stony island in a sea set about at storm. Judith is his everything, the only person that’s ever seen him and loved him for who he is, the only one that’s ever _understood_. Without her, he is nothing, and he’ll fight any demon, any angel, even Carol herself for her.

He has his tail draped across her shoulders like a third hand, which puts it as far away from Daryl as possible and he wishes he could say that he did that on purpose, but the hard and cold truth is that Rick’s tail knows what it’s about and ever since that day, it couldn’t wave toward Daryl even if Rick tried. But Judy it clings to. Because where Rick’s love goes, his tail follows. He’s smart enough to know that.

Tonight, Maggie gives Judith a run for her money and while the rest of them end the game with only one or two pieces in their home slots, Maggie and Judith fight for the last ball. When Judith wins, she starts cackling and she stands to do her victory dance, running around Rick crazily and waving her arms in the air.

Maggie gets pissed and grabs the board and flips it, little pieces going everywhere. One almost knocks Merle in the eyeball and he scatters from the room to avoid the worst of the wrath. Maggie breaks the board across her knee and sprints to the garage where she calls home. Rick can hear even from the living room the frantic swings she’s throwing at her punching bag.

And then, it’s just the three of them. Judith quiets and stands awkwardly between them. She’s stopped asking a long time ago why they won’t even look at each other and Rick’s heart breaks for her. If he could heal this he would, if only for his little monster. It’s no life living with parents who are already divorced in spirit, but not in action. He’s already had one kid who’s gone through that and he hates with boiling blood that Judith has to go through it, too. But what would he do about it? You can’t heal something that’s dead and he won’t kick Daryl out. She still needs him, even if Rick doesn’t.

But she’s learned to cope. So she smiles at Daryl and gives him a long hug, says goodnight and then, when she’s ready, hops up on Rick’s shoulders and tells him to go, like he’s some kind of public transportation system and she has an all-inclusive ticket. Rick rolls his eyes, but turns from Daryl without a word and takes Judith to her bedroom, deposits her on her _Knights of the Roundtable_ bedsheets before collapsing on the sofa in the corner that Judith just _insisted_ Lori put there and Lori could never, for the life of her, understand why.

Judith snuggles down under her covers and Rick grabs the blanket from the back of the couch, tosses it over himself. He still roosts sometimes, but it’s good, too, to just lie here and talk to Judith as they drift to sleep. He’s comfortable enough now with her to take these moments as they come, to give himself over to something that feels so incredibly vulnerable and human.

“Tell me about when I was a baby,” Judith says and Rick grunts.

“What do you want to know?” he asks.

Judith scoffs and rolls her eyes and even in the darkness, Rick can see every inch of her sass. “ _You know_.”

Rick snorts out a laugh. “When you were a baby,” he whispers and shakes his head, “you wouldn’t go to sleep unless you were holding onto my horn.” Judith smiles and puts her nose in the covers. “Your mother was _so_ confused. You would scream and wail and cry and she couldn’t rock you to sleep. And your daddy couldn’t either.” 

“Or Daryl?” Judith asks.

“Or Daryl,” Rick says and smiles at the image of her, so tiny in his arms. “And Maggie and Merle weren’t there, then. It was just me.” He chuckles. “I don’t even know if you actually _liked_ me, you little twerp, or if you just liked my horn, but all I knew was that I had to sleep above you--”

“Like a bat.”

“---yeah. Like a bat. I had to sleep above your crib or you would be a grouchy pot for the whole entire day.”

Judith kicks at her covers to get them into a better position. “Did Daryl always sleep in the guestroom?”

Rick pauses and frowns, thinks about that one night with Daryl’s hand in his, how Daryl had hovered next to him on his cloud so gentle, so _comforting_. He wants desperately to go back to that point, to forget about everything he knows that has burned all of that joy out of him like fire burning oxygen out of the air. But the impossibility of that hangs heavy in the hallway, separating them out in distance more telling than the line between Heaven and Hell. And below that, below the inability for Rick to forget is still an angry, twisted ball of hatred, of despair and _blame_. He could never love Daryl again, even if he knows how much better it would be for Judith, even if it would cure Daryl’s restraint to her in a flat second, the restraint he hates even more than Daryl’s own neglect of him.

“Yeah,” he tells Judith. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, though.”

Rick watches her shrug. “I know he loves me,” she says and then frowns. “Not like you do, though.”

Rick shakes his head. “Don’t say that,” he tells her. “He loves you just as much.”

Judith shrugs again and looks at the glowing constellations she has tapped all over her ceiling. “It’s just different, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Rick agrees. “Just different. Now go to sleep, Monster. You’re keeping me up.”

Judith scoffs. “I am not,” she says, but yawns and closes her eyes. “I love you, Punch,” she tells him. Rick smiles and lets the softness of the glowing toy constellations and the words on Judith’s lips lull him into a half-sleep. With his defenses down, his heart grows warm and comfortable, opening like a flower that only blooms under the moon. It’s the only time that he feels safe, the only time he feels happy.

He smiles. “I love you too, Little Monster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBo-n_17XU0)
> 
> AND a beta rec by Skari! 
> 
> [Snuff by Slipknot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUC6sAXza_k)


	20. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, note that Skari made me a cover! You can see the link to it at the end of the story.

Rick wakes up at dawn like he usually does and goes into the kitchen to make Judith’s breakfast. By this time, Lori has already left for the day and Noah is in the living room, watching _Good Morning America_ and texting his gal pal. After the incident in the kitchen last summer, he never sets foot in there--something about watching an egg crack itself into a pan running him off from venturing onto the colorful patterned tile.

Rick makes pancakes because he feels like it and because he knows that Judith has been craving them the last couple of days. He goes for shapes this time, making an elephant first that more or less works out. He makes a stick man with a disproportionately huge left arm and then for the last one, he has something that’s supposed to be a giraffe, but ends up looking like a big throbbing dong, so he leaves it on the living room endtable for Noah and makes something more appropriate for an eight-year-old girl. A rabbit. With a big-ass tail.

He takes the plate and the syrup into Judith’s room and pokes her awake with his spade. She groans and tries to ignore him, so after he sets down the plate, he reaches under the covers and starts tickling her feet until she wakes up with incredibly pissed-off laughter and throws a pillow at him. “ _I HATE YOU_ ,” she shrieks, but she’s smiling and her anger quickly disappears when she sees pancakes.

She eats and then afterwards, Rick sits cross-legged on the bed and they play their own made-up version of patty-cake that is ten times too complicated for either of them to keep up with. The aim of the game is to outlast the other one and Rick wins with a final slap to her hand. She glowers, but concedes and then it’s time to get up.

Judith goes and showers and Rick follows his normal morning ritual. He wakes Maggie up with a bucket of cold water and quickly slams the door shut in her hissing, raging face. Following that, he wakes _Merle_ up with a loud cymbal clash and listens to Merle’s ranting and raving that he doesn’t even know why the hell he’s hanging around here.

Rick never wakes up Daryl. He figures the cymbals will get him, too, and if they don’t, whatever. Rick’s not his keeper.

When Judith is showered and up, Rick sits her down and makes her work on geometry. She’s a logic thinker. She likes things like numbers and patterns and cold hard facts. She’s already blown through algebra and Rick sees no reason why she can’t just keep trucking on. Things like history and literature are harder for her. The soft concepts take her a while to grasp. So Rick doesn’t start out the mornings with those, instead leaves them for later in the day after they’ve settled in.

This morning, Judith breezes through circles and circumferences. Rick asks her for practical applications and she starts playing with the bottoms of glasses and talking about how to accurately measure the corners of the room for lamps. Rick smiles and nods along with her and when she starts looking worn out, he dismisses her to go play with Maggie for a few minutes as a break. By that point, Merle is up and dragging around, reading a motorcycle magazine and wearing paths in the carpet as he paces.

Rick stretches himself out in the sun on the living room floor and takes a couple of moments for himself as well. He hears Daryl plodding out the door and going wherever he goes in the afternoon and then Merle finally sits his ass down and tries to strike up a conversation with Rick about spark plugs or engines or brakes or whatever the hell it is that he’s talking about that Rick isn’t paying attention to.

The sun drops slowly in the sky and after a while, Rick frowns and tilts his head up. “Where’s Judy?” he asks Merle, and Merle just grunts and shrugs.

“Saw her head out the door,” he mumbles.

Rick’s frown deepens and he gets up, stalks his way to the garage. He peeks his head in and sees Maggie upside down, tearing viciously at a corn cob and scattering the food out on the floor for rats to congregate toward. “Judy with you?” he asks.

Maggie shrugs. “That little brat!” she spits. “Winning that game. It should have been _me_.”

Rick rolls his eyes and looks around the garage, but sees no sign of Judith. “Where’d she go?” he asks.

Maggie drops from the ceiling and flutters down to the floor. “How should I know? I haven’t seen her all morning.”

Rick’s blood goes cold. “All morning?”

Maggie shrugs and a slow, ticking panic sets up in Rick’s nerves. “Judith!” he calls, banging through the garage, but there’s no answer. “JUDITH!” he screams, rushing back into the living room, banging it open and causing Noah to nearly piss his pants at the invisible force slamming the door back.

Merle frowns up at him. “What the fuck is _your_ problem?” he asks.  


“I can’t find Judith,” Rick says in a rush and jumps into the air, beats his wings and flies through the house. She’s not in the kitchen, not the formal dining room. Not the laundry room, her bedroom, the guestroom, the second guestroom, the study, the bathroom. _Nowhere_.

Rick claws through the closets, through every nook and cranny he can find, even through the pantry and the cupboards in case she’s hiding, but nothing. _Nothing_. And she’s not playing. They don’t do hide and seek. She _knows better_. She knows how upset it makes Rick and she would _never_ do that to him so _where the hell is she_?

“ _Help me find her,_ ” he shrieks at Maggie and Merle and to their credit, they leap into the air with him and all soar outside. Maggie checks the backyard, Rick checks the willow tree, Merle checks the neighbors, but nothing.

Rick is in a fluster now, his wings barely keeping him afloat they’re shaking so hard. Maggie grabs him and drags him down to Earth. “It’s okay,” she says. “We’ll find her. Tell us what to do.”

Rick gulps air into his lungs, but nods. He sends Merle down the street to the right, Maggie down the street to the left and for himself, he takes center, zooming on in towards town. He flies high and fast, his eyes piercing the ground below him like an eagle, looking for her familiar stringbean shape, for the swish of her ponytail, the green T-shirt he knew she was wearing this morning.

He gets two miles and then he sees her, walking on the sidewalk beside Daryl, headed home. He drops like a rock and dives for them.

Judith sees him first and her eyes get wide, realization hitting the brown orbs like lightning bolts. Rick’s feet crash to the ground and she’s already talking. “--I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry,” she’s saying, but Rick whips on past her like an oncoming meteor and he punches Daryl hard in the jaw, watches in satisfaction as he grunts and his face whips to the right.

“What the _fuck is wrong with you_?” Rick shrieks, but then Judith is grabbing his arm and tugging on it.

The second she makes contact with him, Rick backs down, releases the tension in his shoulders and turns to her, gathers her up in a hug so suffocating it’s a wonder she can breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, “I’m _sorry._ It was my fault. I went after him. I wanted to see where he goes.”

Rick pulls back and glares at her. “Don’t you _ever_ do that again to me, do you hear me, Judy? Don’t you _ever_. I was so worried about you--”

“I know,” she says and she’s shaking her head and there’s water in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry, Rick.”

Rick lets out a puff of a breath and gathers her to him again, holds her for a minute and squeezes his eyes shut. Her little heart is beating a mile a minute and his is, too, and even though she’s okay, even though it was nothing, his brain still won’t let the adrenaline go, the deep seated fear of losing the very last thing in existence that he cares about. This is why he stays next to her always. This is why she never leaves his sight.

“I just wanted to see,” she says again, “where he goes.”

Rick nods and sets his jaw, takes a step back and glares at Daryl, who’s fingering his lip where a trickle of blood is coming out. Judith reaches up and grabs Rick’s hand, holds it. She scoffs. “I-it’s nowhere interesting,” she stammers. “Just the stupid library.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “It’s okay if you want to go with him. You just _tell_ me, alright?” Judith swallows and nods. “And _you_ ,” Rick says and points his free hand at Daryl, “if she does that, you fly home like the _wind_ and you _tell me_ she’s _okay_.”

Daryl glares, still fingering his lip, and then in a burst of decision, he tenses, his eyes narrowed and his body on edge. “Maybe _you_ should get over yourself and deal with your emotional issues so that it’s not a problem.”

Rick straightens his spine and blinks. Is that Daryl...fighting back? Daryl doesn’t _fight back_. “ _What_ did you say to me?”

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Daryl spits out, “if you talked about what happened to you, maybe you wouldn’t _panic_.”

“Are you fucking _kidding me right now_?” Rick shrieks.  


Daryl spares a glance at Judith and bends down to her level. “Judy, why don’t you go home? The adults have to talk right now--”

“Don’t you fucking talk to her like that,” Rick snaps and puts himself in between Daryl and Judith. “She’s more of an _adult_ than you are.”

“Rick, I am not going to have this conversation in front of a _child_.”

“We’re not having this conversation _at all_.”

“Yes, we are!” Daryl yells and suddenly his wings are out and slapping at the air in anger. “I am tired and I am frustrated and I am _done_ with your bullshit. You are going to _tell me_.”

“You couldn’t fucking _handle it_.”

“I don’t give a shit. I am not going to _move_ from your fucking _sight_ until you _tell me_.”

“Well, FINE!” Rick yells into the air and releases Judith’s hand, moves forward to shove at Daryl. “FINE. You want to know? I am going to fucking _show you_. JUDY. GO HOME.”

Judith pauses and it takes Rick a long time to notice that she’s staring at them, his focus too engrossed on glaring at Daryl unblinkingly. She walks forward slowly and puts herself between them, pushes at Rick’s stomach until he steps back. Rick looks down at her only because it’s Judith and because he would give her the world. She swallows and grabs his hand, starts pulling him away until they are distanced from Daryl. She bends up to him and whispers, “Don’t hurt him.”

Rick glares, but it’s not at her and she seems to understand that. “I’m not going to hurt him,” Rick snaps. “I’m going to show him. Everything.”

Judy crooks a corner of her mouth up in something that tries to be a smile. “I think that’s going to hurt him, Daddy.”

Rick sags, his wings falling down and his tail hitting the concrete. She only uses that endearment when she truly is asking for something and it’s unfair and it’s totally cheating and she knows it. She told him once, years ago, that he was more her parent than Lori or Shane or Daryl or any of them and Rick has kept that close to his heart, the single shining light in the middle of all of the tendrils of darkness. He frowns and blinks, but nods. “Fine,” he says, “but he wants to see, so he’s going to see. He’s asking for it.”

“Okay,” Judith says, “he’s asking for it, so give it to him.” She bends around and yells back at Daryl. “You’re being stupid!”

Daryl grunts and crosses his arms, looks away and refuses to acknowledge her. Judith rolls her eyes. “ _Adults_ ,” she says.

Rick nods at her. “Yes, adults. We do stupid shit. Okay?” He snaps his fingers and pulls out a dog whistle, blows it hard and smiles when Daryl flinches. He waits and in a minute, he sees Merle coming soaring over the buildings toward them. “You go home with Merle,” Rick says and hugs her tight again. “And you stay safe. And I promise to bring Daryl back in one piece, no matter how much of a fucker he’s being.”

Judith hugs him back tightly and nods, waits until Merle gets there. Rick watches as Merle lands and grabs her hand, waits until they have walked around the corner and out of sight before he turns to Daryl. “You really want to know?” Rick asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Daryl breathes straight from his lungs with everything in him.

“You’re not going to like it,” Rick says.

“I don’t care,” Daryl says and rushes forward to him, his heels picking up as he jogs across the concrete. Rick tries not to look, but he can’t tear his gaze away. Daryl’s eyes are open and honest and that’s the worst part. He still wants to fix it after all this time. He still thinks he can. Rick sighs and shrugs at him.

“I’ll show you,” he says and holds out his hands. “I mean, I will _really_ show you. You’ll feel like you’re me. You’ll feel like you’re there. We’ll relive the whole entire shit sandwich together.”

Daryl nods, aggressive and true. “I’m ready,” he says.

Rick scoffs. “No, you’re not,” he answers and then grabs hold of Daryl’s hands.


	21. Something Beautiful, Something Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be considered triggering to some, so please review the tags if needed. If you would like more information, I can be reached at my email MichelleAEmerlind@outlook.com. Also, please note that the viewpoints and actions expressed in this chapter are not necessarily reflected by the author.

May 1974 is hot, even for the south, and the cicadas have been horrific this year, buzzing into all hours of the night and only stopping when the frogs take up their voice. It’s stifling and muggy, the kind of summer in which sweat hangs off of bodies in layers and the heat shimmers in the driveway like frenzied ghosts.

Which means that Rick is not enthused about the prospect of driving around the country in a car where the air-conditioner is on the fritz again. But he doesn’t really have a say in that, it seems. Jessie has already told Carl in that tone she has, that defining and all-encompassing clip of her sentences, that they’re going on a family vacation. It’s going to happen.

Now she’s standing at the kitchen counter, cutting carrots for a stew. The knife moves slowly, but deliberately on the cutting board in pure, even jerks, the orange slices breaking off in perfect thickness and her face is devoid of emotion, her mouth a relaxed line of refusal to submit. “I _just_ think it would be nice,” she says.

Rick is standing beside her and they don’t look at one another. His left hand is deep in his pocket--still his work outfit, the tan of the force--and he’s drinking tea from a cup that’s more condensation than glass. “Hmm,” he grunts.

“We need to be a family again,” Jessie says. “We need to connect more. Carl will love the Grand Canyon, I’m sure he will. Hell, Rick, _I’ll_ love it. And maybe this time, we can make it, you know? Instead of pulling off on the side of the road to nurse a sick baby. We can make this work. It will be fun.”

“Hmm,” Rick says again and takes a long drink.

Jessie sighs and sets the knife down carefully, clinging to the handle until the last second. She turns to try and catch his eye, but Rick doesn’t move a muscle. “Why don’t you talk to me?” The question is old. Older than either of them it seems, tucked down deep into the dust of pyramids and sediment layers. “You never _talk_ ,” Jessie says and swallows down her bitterness. “I wish you would just _say_ something. _Speak_.” She sighs and stares at the forgotten carrots. “Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all.”

Rick grinds his teeth, the curve of his jaw outlined against his skin as it works. What does she want him to say? He’s tried it all before, tried to really give her what she wants. _A reason_. _An explanation_. But there are only two things within him that he needs to express. The first is that he knows that she doesn’t love him anymore. That he knows she sometimes wishes that he wouldn’t walk back through that door every afternoon. And she doesn’t want to hear that. She has no response for it and there’s nothing to do. Neither one of them believe in divorce and Carl needs them both. And the other...well, the other is even harder, even more laughable at the thought of voicing. It’s that he doesn’t love her, either. That he’s incapable of loving someone who doesn’t have a dick between the legs. That she’s right about those shy glances she keeps giving him about his buddies on the force.

So instead of saying either of those things, instead of speaking, he just nods his head and stares into the dark brown liquid in his cup. “A family vacation will be nice,” he tells her. “Carl will like it.”

She sighs and her shoulders slump, understanding his response for what it is. “Sure,” she says. “Sure, it’ll be nice.”

***

Rick pulls the car off to the side of the road and kills the engine. They’re out in the middle of nowhere, on a cracked country road, and Carl keeps saying he has to pee like a racehorse. Jessie keeps telling him to calm down and hold it, but Rick shakes his head at her with a smile. “We’re an hour away from a town,” he tells Jessie and curves his lips up, lets his eyes twinkle at her. “Boys will be boys.”

Jessie arches an eyebrow. “We are not making good timing like this. I _told_ you to go at the last gas station, Carl! This is exactly why I say these things.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Carl whines in his ten-year-old petulant tone. “I can’t help it.”

Rick already has his hand on the door handle, though, and is popping open the driver’s door and sliding out. Carl rushes out of the backseat and heads straight for the woods and Rick smiles as he follows him, his right hand on his belt and his left dangling loose.

He’s still wearing his cop outfit despite Jessie’s insistence that he change into civilian clothes. He wants them to be safe and he feels like he’s more of an authority like this. And besides, he wants his gun. Just in case. He glances back at Jessie and nods. She smiles at him and shrugs. There’s a second gun in the glovebox and he knows that she knows how to use it, so satisfied that he's not leaving his wife to whoever drives these country roads, he follows Carl into the thick forest.

If nothing else, Carl’s being a gentleman about it and isn’t trying to just go right off the road in full view of his momma. Rick will give him that. Carl’s actually been very good on the trip so far, being respectful of his mother and chatting with his father. He’s excited to see the sights and keeps pointing out things even though they’re not even out of Georgia yet, haven’t seen much beyond woods that look just like their backyard.

But despite all that, things have been...good. Good for them at least. Rick has the radio on and the windows down and they’re singing to good old boy country as they drive through the stretch of Georgia pine and thistle. It almost feels normal. Almost like they can reach each other. Almost like they have time and they’re finally all going to connect together in that special way that will knit them into each other and weave out a _unit_ , a group, a family.

So when Rick sees the deer, he takes it as a sign.

It’s the sound first, of hooves on the pine needle floor, that draws his attention and he reaches for Carl, grabs his shoulder and tightens his hand on his belt before he sees the brown fur and registers wild animal instead of threat. Carl stills under his hand and waits patiently, follows Rick’s gaze until he sees it, too. The deer is of average size, a brownish red, with nice horns and a long, thin neck. It’s grazing in the trees and as they watch, it comes down slowly, stepping over twigs and rocks and weaving through the brush until it hits an open clearing and walks out into the middle of the dirt floor.

Rick flicks his eyes down and sees Carl watching it with a smiling expression, his mouth open. Rick smiles at the boy and slowly uncurls his fingers from Carl’s shoulder, lets him take a step toward the deer. It lifts his head and sniffs around, neck outstretched, but it doesn’t seem to pay them any mind.

Carl starts stepping closer and the deer bends to the forest floor and begins to graze again, pawing around to find what it’s looking for. Carl looks back at Rick, whipping his head and Rick catches his eye, smiles, and nods his permission. For a moment, the deer jerks up and looks in the opposite direction, then turns so that it looks back the way it came, the ears erect, its head curved over its shoulder. Rick watches Carl and Carl watches the deer and keeps stepping closer, keeps getting just that inch nearer.

And then the deer looks at Carl, turns its head around and stares at him, starts flipping its ears fast up into the air. Everyone pauses. Every _thing_ pauses and Rick tilts his head to the side as he looks and studies it--this magical moment that’s suspended in time. Rick watches Carl, the nervousness of his shoulders, the excitement of it. He watches his boy watch the deer in front of him, this living, breathing, beautiful thing with rusty fur and the whitest underbelly and it’s so _simple_ , so natural and without any kind of complications in the world. Carl is mesmerized by something so trivial, so unimportant as a deer in the Georgia woods and what is Rick doing with his life? How did he make things so complicated, so tangled? Everything should be simple. Jessie is Carl’s mother so Rick should love her. They’re in this for Carl so they should be _in_ it for him. They should give him moments like this--like deer and the greatness of the Grand Canyon, carved out of the Earth from the flow of rivers and the breezes rushing in across the mountains and the plains.

So Rick decides. He will do this for Carl. He will do this for his only son because there’s no greater reason than that.

When the gunshot comes, it takes Rick moments to process it. It rings out sharp and echoing through the humidity and the summer heat and his mind swims, taking in everything at once but piecing it out into little statements. There is a gun. There was a gunshot. The deer is down. On its side. Unmoving. Carl is down. On his back. Unmoving.

The world rushes in like water filling a cup shoved under the ocean’s surface. He is acutely aware of his own voice, of how it sounds as it screams the word _no_ , of how his throat hurts with the velocity of it. His legs arch in long strides and he stumbles to Carl’s side. His training kicks in, cold and calculated, while his eyes are burning and his voice is still screaming. Stomach wound. Not clean. Not through.

Rick touches Carl’s chest, then his mouth. Breathing. Still breathing. He applies pressure to the wound. Still breathing. Out of the woods, he hears crashing, loud and heavier than any deer. Still breathing. A man, a large man. Still breathing. Shotgun. The look in his eyes. “My boy…” Rick gets out and the man rushes forward like a mountain, stumbles and falls, jams his knee into a rock.  
  
“I didn’t see him,” he says. Still breathing.

“My _boy_!” Rick screams.

“I didn’t--” still breathing “--see him, I swear! The deer.” The man points behind him, still breathing, and then falters, gets up under his knee again, stands. “I got a farm. One mile by running, ten by car.” Still breathing. “I have a farm. It’s got a phone. We can get an ambulance.”

Rick has his son in his arms before he is even aware that he is standing. Carl’s breath is shallow in his ear, tucked into his neck and he holds his shoulders with one arm, his legs with the other and presses Carl against him hard, wills his body to stop the flow of blood like a wound dressing.

Still breathing, Rick thinks. He prepares to run. “ _Where_?”

***

The field is long and the day is hot. The sun beats down and Rick moves his legs steady, keeps his pace even, pours all of his thoughts into simple things. _Keep up your knees. Keep your breath even. Stop, reposition. Don’t drop him. He is still breathing. He is still breathing_.

Brush tries to tangle on his legs and his feet and the long waves of the brittle summer grasses resist him as he runs. “ _How far_?” he calls to the man behind him, stumbling along out of breath.

“Another half mile,” the man says. “That way! Hershel, talk to Hershel--he’ll help your boy.”

Rick runs, ignores his pounding heart and the weakness in his knees. Stops, repositions again. His back hurts and his arms are shaking with Carl’s weight. His shirt is drenched, soaked through with sweat or blood and Rick is too afraid to look down. He sees the farm now. It looms ahead of him, _so far_ , and is there enough breath to make it? Are there enough lungs between them to get there?

He stumbles, almost falls, gets his knees under himself and feels Carl’s weight in his hands, sagging like stone drifting to the bottom of the ocean. No, Rick thinks, he is still breathing. But Rick can’t hear it now, over the sound of his own gasping, sobbing breaths. He can’t feel it against the wind and the sticking, ugly layers of water clinging to the Georgia air. He has no idea, anymore, of what he’s carrying. But his feet shuffle on. _Keep up your knees. Keep your breath even_.

He stumbles toward a gap in the fence and on the porch, a farm girl with short brown hair and eyes that will be a part of him for the rest of his life, leaps from her chair. “ _DAD!_ ” she yells behind her and an aging man, white hair and confident features, knocks through the screen door, takes in what’s in front of him.

“What happened?” the man asks and people start gathering from the house.

“ _SHOT_ ,” Rick cries, stumbling. “By your man.”

“Otis?” a woman with honey-colored hair asks.

“He said to find Hershel,” Rick says, his ears listening for breaths. “Is that you?” The man nods and Rick speaks over any words he might say. “Help me. Help my boy.”

“Get him inside,” Hershel says. “Annette, call the hospital. Shawn, get bandages.”

The group rushes inside and Rick follows them, clinging to the body in his arms that feels hot under the sun and, incredibly, cold. The crowd bottlenecks in the front of the house and Hershel leads Rick quickly to a bedroom where Rick leans down, finally lets go of that awful burden he’s been holding onto.

Hershel pushes between Rick and his son and Rick stumbles back, his eyes open, but not seeing, his heart racing, but not beating. “Is-is he alive?”

“Pillowcase,” Hershel says. “Quick.”

Rick grabs one of the pillows, holds it limply in his hand and then, when Hershel prods him again, he whips the case off, folds it like Hershel instructs him to do and puts pressure on the wound. “Can you..can you do anything?” Rick asks.

Hershel stares up at him and they pause for a moment, looking at one another before Hershel shakes his head once. Quick. Confident. “I know basic first aid,” Hershel tells him and then pauses. “I’m a vet. A veterinarian. I’m not trained for this. My wife is calling an ambulance--”

“How far?” Rick snaps. “How long?”

“They get here from the city quick,” the farm girl says, stepping forward. “Twenty minutes.”

Rick swallows. Twenty minutes. “Is he alive?” he asks again, staring at the boy under his hands.

Hershel bends to check and then nods again curtly. “I’ve got a heartbeat. It’s faint.”

“Give us some room,” Hershel tells him and takes the pillowcase from Rick, presses down with his hand. “We’ve got him.”

Rick steps back, mostly from the women that are grabbing him and pushing him to the corner. Shawn hovers in the doorway, bandages and materials at the ready. Outside, Rick can see Otis rushing through the field, his body heavy and cumbersome. Something dark within Rick stirs.

Otis crests the stairs, stumbles inside and drops the gun on the floor. Rick’s training hisses at him at how the safety could be off, how the gun could shoot and take that man’s leg or Rick’s chest that’s already missing a piece. Otis walks to the room, looks inside. “He’s alive?” he asks and then again. “He’s still alive?”

Hershel nods up at him and Rick swallows down a lump in his throat, reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but ends up smearing blood all over himself. Carl’s blood. His own blood pumping through different veins. He swallows again.

“What happened?” Hershel asks.

Otis speaks slowly, his words thick. “I was...tracking a buck. Bullet went through it. Went clean through.” He sees the woman with honey-color hair, gravitates to her. “I never saw him,” he says, to the woman and not to Rick. “I never saw him until he was on the _ground_.”

Something breaks loose within Rick, a dam bursting. “Jessie doesn’t know,” he says and stumbles toward the bed. He knocks Hershel away from his son, bends down to him. “My wife doesn’t know. _My wife doesn’t know_.”

Hershel grabs Rick’s shoulder and pulls, but Rick shoves him, clings to Carl for dear life. The women come forward, touch him--the farm girl, Hershel’s wife, the one with the honey hair. But he shoves all of them back until it’s Otis who has his hand on Rick’s shoulder, is pulling with all his weight and dragging Rick to the door.

The others fall on Carl like vultures. Hershel goes back to holding the wound and Otis says, right in Rick’s ear, “Come outside. Give them space to work.“

He drags Rick to the door and Rick falls through it, his body crashing the screen open. His eyes take in the farm--the fences and the grasses, the chickens roaming and a horse grazing. To the side is a barn, the only other structure, and since Rick has nowhere else to go, he starts walking toward it, narrows his eyes at the brown and rusty red structure. Behind him, Otis follows and Rick begins to seethe.

Neither talk until they reach the barn, until Rick is in it with nowhere to go and he punches the wall, relieved at the feeling of _hurt_ that shoots through his knuckles, at the blood on them that’s _his own blood_ and _no one else’s_.

“I didn’t see him,” Otis says behind him and Rick imagines striking out, imagines the feel of his fist against the man’s jaw. “I just saw the deer.” His son. Dead. “I swear to you.” Dead like an animal. “I swear to you, sir, that I never saw him.” Shot like an animal. “Not until he was on the ground.” Still breathing. Is he breathing? “On his back.” The coldness of his skin. “And I…” The fever of it. “If I could change it.” His only son. “I would.” His boy. “But I can’t.” Carl. “Accidents happen.”

“Yeah,” Rick says and he only registers everything long after it has already passed. “Yeah.” The coldness of the metal. “I get it.” Silver, sharp like snakes’ tongues. “I get it.” The trigger. “Shit happens.”

Otis is dead before he hits the ground and the Python is smoking long before Rick blinks enough to process it. There’s a sound from the barn door, a shriek, and Rick spins, takes in the brown-haired woman. Annette. His police training tells him one thing. Clear witnesses.

The Python swings slowly through the air, fires a second time. She falls back out the barn door, lands empty in the dirt.

Inside the barn, Rick stands cold and emotionless. He hears the screaming and the shrieking getting closer, stands stock still as Hershel and Shawn rush into the barn, as the younger man tackles him, rips the gun from his hands and throws him down onto his knees.

Later, the ambulance arrives. And then the police. Rick waives his rights. He knows them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [Jezebel by Iron and Wine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=990kOZxIOKw)
> 
> AND a beta rec by Skari! 
> 
> [Barton Hollow by The Civil Wars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExAM8D7cfbI)


	22. The Fifth One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be considered triggering to some, so please review the tags if needed. If you would like more information, I can be reached at my email MichelleAEmerlind@outlook.com. Also, please note that the viewpoints and actions expressed in this chapter are not necessarily reflected by the author.

The room is gray and bland like all interrogation rooms are and when they let Jessie in, something about the stark lightness of her hair, the jean jacket clipped to her shoulders, and the squeak of her sneakers on the concrete feels _off_ , feels out of place and so surreal that Rick blinks at her for it.

Her hair is up and there’s no makeup on her face, wiped off with the darkness of the day. She doesn’t carry anything in with her, just sits down across from Rick and refuses to meet his eyes. “I don’t even know what to say to you,” she tells him.

Rick sets his jaw and doesn’t respond. What would he tell her back? How could he begin to have a conversation about any of this? There’s only one thing that spurs his voice onward, bubbling it up out of his chest to spill out his lips in a quiet, reverent question. “Carl?”

Jessie frowns and then shakes her head. “He’s gone.”

Rick’s shoulders sag and he nods. He tries to lift his hand to the bridge of his nose again, but the cuffs tied to the chair snap at his wrist and so he lowers them back down. It doesn’t surprise him. The news. But his nerves still scream with it. “Was it...did he go quick?” he asks. It’s not like it matters. Either way, his son is dead and he’s here and Jessie is there, miles away already, her eyes cast aside to somewhere that Rick isn’t.

Jessie starts nodding, but then she pauses. She shakes her head slowly again. “He...he went as fast as he could,” she tells him and then sighs, squeezes her eyes shut before leaning forward, placing her elbows on the table and rubbing at her face. “Rick…” she says and then swallows.

“Tell me,” Rick urges her. “Tell me everything. I have to know.”

Jessie removes her hands, lets them fall uselessly on the metal table between them. “The ambulance came. He was alive when they took him and they found me on the road and when I got to the hospital....” She shakes her head, stares off at the wall. “The doctors told me he only had a twenty-five percent chance of making it. And I couldn’t...I couldn’t put him through more pain for that.”

Rick blinks. He opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again. “He had a _chance_?”

Jessie whips her eyes to him and they’re wild and searching, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “He didn’t have _any_ chance,” she tells Rick.

“You just said he could have lived.”

Jessie blinks and then straightens her spine. “Lived for what, Rick? They told me. Twenty-five percent chance of death--”

“He had a _seventy five percent chance_ of _living_?” Rick shrieks at her.

“No!” Jessie cries. “ _Listen_ to me for once.”

The silence drops over them like an anvil and Rick snaps his jaw shut. Jessie continues. “They said that he had a twenty-five percent chance of dying, a twenty-five percent chance of living, and a...a fifty chance of waking up with complications. _Massive_ complications. They said he could be a vegetable or...or brain damaged. That he’d lost too much blood. And one of the fragments was...was…” She pauses, puts a hand to her mouth and then quickly takes it down. “...pressing on his spine and he might not walk. And none of those are lives, Rick. None of them. Especially with what he has to come home to.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“It _means_ ,” Jessie hisses at him, “a life without a _father_. And I couldn’t do that to him, Rick. Me. I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk that my son would wake up not even knowing who he was and you not there to help me take that burden.”

“So you killed him,” Rick snaps and doesn’t care how harsh it sounds. Doesn't care how real.

“Why do we want Carl to live in that world? Why would you?” she asks and shakes her head at him, like she’s _judging_ him, like she has any right. “It ended tonight for him, Rick. It’s done. He doesn’t have to wake up and suffer. He doesn’t have to wake up and hurt. It’s over. He’s gone.”

Rick shakes his head and then snaps his eyes to the metal between them. “Go,” he tells her. Jessie pauses. “ _Go_ ,” he growls. She still doesn’t move and so he snaps, shoves the table with his legs and watches in satisfaction as it catches her in the stomach, as it pushes her chair back and the legs scrape sickeningly loud in the room. “You’re dead to me,” he says. “So go the fuck away.”

She stares at him for a moment, takes him in, and then slowly rises. “You can sign the papers in prison, I’m sure,” she says, like it’s her last little victory. But Rick doesn’t give a shit. It’s hollow, as empty as a dried up lakebed and he has nothing in himself to give.

***

They move Rick to a correctional facility outside Atlanta, speeding through the paperwork process on account of his new label as “dangerous” and “unstable.” So by the time the sun sets that night, Rick is sitting on the bottom bunk in a prison cell that he thankfully doesn’t have to share, listening to the jeers and laughter of the inmates outside who are going to have _so much fun_ with the _new little piggy_.

In the darkness, his mind whirls. Earlier, with everything else, he was distracted by his worries and his fears and all the outside concerns--the fingerprinting, the mugshot taking, the billion questions he was asked, the lawyer he was provided. But now, with all that gone, and now, with the final question actually answered--with Carl cold in the ground, because Rick would never see his funeral so he might as well start imagining it like it would be, the half-sized coffin, the engraving, _Loving Son_ \--he has nothing but his own mind to focus on.

Facts tick into him like the moving of the second hand on a clock. _His son is dead_. That’s the first one, cold and hard and true. The last thing he would ever see of Carl would be that look cast over his shoulder, that wide and open smile as he walked toward the deer, that moment that had just slipped through Rick’s fingers. _Jessie had murdered him_. Because she had. She had looked at their son, at the only good thing that either of them had ever done in their lives, and she had ended it. Without his say. Without even asking. Without even _thinking_ about him, her decision so final she must have thought it had just been right. _He had murdered a man_. Otis, his eyes beseeching Rick’s. Rick could see that now, the guilt and the sincerity shining in them like new glass. _He had murdered a woman_. A woman who had done nothing, innocent as the blue, blue sky.

And he hadn’t cared. About either of them.

That hurts the most. That at that moment, Rick wasn’t even human. He was the cold, hard arm of justice, shining and metallic and true and when the Python had bucked, when the gun had twitched in his hand, it was like an eleventh finger, like an extension of everything he was. And it was cold. And it was _honest_.

He squeezes his eyes shut, pushes his back up against the concrete and pulls his knees into his chest hard, huddles against the jeers still ringing from the other cells. The “what ifs” fly in--what if he had told Carl to hold his damn bladder? What if he had told Carl no, step back from the deer? What if he had walked up to the deer with Carl? What if he had walked up _instead_ of him? What if he had killed Otis there, right there on the spot? What if he had poured Carl into the car, drove instead of ran? What if he had stayed by his side and not let the others push him away? What if he had walked in a different direction than the barn? What if he had stilled his shaking and bruised trigger finger? What if he had stayed with Jessie, made her see reason, made her understand that their son wanted to live? What if he had done all of those things? How many ways are there in which he caused Carl’s death? How many ways are there in which he is causing his own now?

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers, the sound barely audible over the rattling of jail bars, “ _help me_.”

Rick has never been a religious person. He goes with Jessie to church sometimes, keeps up the facade of the good Christian man. He chats with the pastor, makes potato salad for the lunches. He tells Carl that Carl should go because his momma wants it. But has Rick ever believed? He’s never been sure. But he is now. Because if there is something so terrible, so _black_ and _evil_ as his hand on that Python, then there has to be something good, too. There has to be something out there to counterbalance men like him. To make the world a better place and he cries out to it, opens his heart and begs, _begs_ for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” he mouths into his hands that are covering his face. His toes curl and his knees knock against his chest. “Please forgive me. They didn’t deserve to die. That woman...she did nothing to me. That man...he was so sorry. Please help me. Please help them.”

The walls remain silent, gray and cold and lifeless as a prison should be. This is where Rick will be for the rest of his life. This is now his home.

“Please,” he says, “I don’t know what to do.” His throat is a sob, his cheeks wet and his irises are burning behind his eyelids, unable to unsee the things he’s done, unable to let go of the sight of Carl’s body on the ground, surrounded by dirt and grass and the blood from his father that would soon be on Rick’s hands, mixed and mingled with stranger’s blood until it was all dark and congealed like thick molasses that never quite washes off.

He opens his mouth and catches the cry that threatens to spill out, swallows it like the bitter pill it is. “Please,” his lips motion, “show me what to do. Give me a _sign_. Just a little sign...tell me how to fix this. I need to fix this. How do I get past this? How do I live without my son?” He thinks of the family, each and every one--Hershel, Otis’ wife, the young blonde girl, the brunette short-haired one, Hershel’s son. He imagines each of their faces, burns them into his memory so that he will never forget.

“ _Please_ ,” he says and it’s louder this time, finally a whisper, the words knocking out of his lips and releasing into the hot air of the prison, “ _help me_.”

The room goes cold. And then firebrand hot. Rick blinks and light seeps in through the cracks in his fingers, red glowing light that his skin instinctively crawls to get away from. He lowers his hands slowly, eyes wide and locked in front of him. Sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed is a woman.

She’s thin and petite, her salt-and-peppered hair cut close against her head. Her skin looks fresh and young, lively and smooth, without blemish. She smiles and it looks somehow motherly and paternal at the same time. She lifts her hand and stretches it toward Rick, her fingers long, her nails shining and perfect. “I heard you,” she tells him, whispering comfortingly and crinkling her eyes at the corner, like she really _is_ truly listening.

Somehow, Rick doubts it. But his heart still snaps forward, still clings to the tone in her voice like it’s his only lifeline. Because isn’t it? “Who--”

“Sssshhh,” she says, “you’re the only one who can see me. The only one who can hear me.”

Rick frowns and wonders for a brief second if he’s gone completely crazy. The woman reaches for him again, her palm outstretched, waiting. “I came for you,” she tells him. “I heard your cry, my poor, sweet Richard. You’re so lonely. So _alone_. They’ve all left you, haven’t they? But not me. I’m here. Carol’s here.”

“What do you want?”

“Want?” she says and laughs, shakes her head at him. “What do _you_ want?”

What _does_ he want? Forgiveness. Solace. Comfort. And…“Freedom.”

Carol widens her eyes and grins. “Freedom,” she says and licks her lips. “ _Freedom_? Yes, they all want freedom. Freedom from what?”

“Myself,” Rick is quick to say. “Everything.”

Carol smiles. “I can give you that. Come with me. Just take my hand and I will make you great beyond words. I will make you _free_. If you become this, you’ll never feel powerless again. You’ll be free to do whatever you want, Rick.”

Rick pauses. “Become what?”

Carol tilts her head and holds her hand up further to him. “A demon.” Rick blinks, stares at her and widens his eyes. He opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “Where was God just now? When you called for her? She never came. But me...me, _I_ came. _I_ heard you. _I_ listened. You have such potential, the things you’ve done. But this humanity...it holds you back. _Shed it like a skin_. Discard it. And fuck _all of them_. Every last one. Your wife, those fucking cops, these fucking prisoners. Who cares about them, Rick? They’re ants and you, _you_ are the magnifying glass. And _I_ am the _sun_.”

Rick stares at her hand, at the red light that casts down upon her palm, at the gray blanket under her legs, the gray walls beyond her back. He thinks about his life--about it stretching before him here. And he thinks about Carl, the way they will close his eyes with the tips of their fingers like they are doing his body a favor. _Sleep, my son_. Even though he is an empty shell.

Rick gathers breath to ask her what power means, the things that she could give him, the hurt she could take away. But he finds the words dying before they leave his lips, unspoken and irrelevant. It doesn’t matter now, what is and what isn’t. Carl is dead and Rick feels it like electricity in the air. Nothing, not even this woman, can bring him back. And Rick, well...Rick is dead, too. Just as gone or ever more so. There is no light coming down for him, no magic saving grace. There is only these walls and her hand, so tempting, welcoming him.

“Come with me,” Carol says and Rick bends his arm forward, slides his hand into her palm, watches as his skin begins to glow with the red light. Because, after all, what choice does he have?

***

Rick has changed, but his transformation is not quite complete. For it to be permanent, Carol has charged him with one task--changing someone else. And Rick knows just where to go.

The first funeral is as expected. It’s Otis’s and the ceremony is long and drawn out, filled with stories of his Christian duty and how much he loved his family and how much he adored hunting. Rick sits in the oak tree at the edge of the cemetery and plucks the feathers off dead baby birds. He’s already learning to distance himself, to shove the deep, dark well that has glued itself to his soul down and lock it into a little box, to focus on simple things like birds and feathers and trees and how he hates all of them.

The family wears black, of course. He’s not sure yet which one will break, which one he will _own_ , but he knows it is one of them. He feels it rattling through his bones like music.

***

The second funeral is the following day. Annette. The family comes in new black dresses, in new black ties. Rick walks among them this time in red. They can’t see him, so why does it matter? He makes faces at the people who speak about her life--how godly she was, how full of joy. Hershel breaks down in the middle of it, falls to his knees and Rick cackles at him because that is easier. Because that is something he can do.

***

The third funeral is months later, in the dead hot of summer. It doesn’t last long because the sun beats down with a sickening fire and the heat is almost too much for the lungs to stand. A little gazebo is set up--pink and bright and disgusting. The casket is closed because no one wants to see. No one knows what to say and there are no stories about good Christian people or what the dead loved in life. No, with this one, everyone is angry because how dare she? How dare she in her own bathroom? How dare she with her momma’s mirror, the cold cuts of the glass staining her body so that even in death, she looked like weakness, like betrayal?

Rick is beginning to see who it is that will cave to him, who it is that the demon burns within, who will be perfect for a harvest. She stands at the back of the crowd in her airy black dress, a frown on her face and her eyes vacant.

In the days to come, when they finally put the tombstone down-- _Beth Greene. Loving Daughter_.--Maggie hits it, breaks her knuckles on the stone, screams so loud she upsets a hawk that’s settled down to roost. Once the air has left her lungs, she becomes calm again, tucks her bleeding hands across her chest and turns, walks away without any true words spoken. Rick feels a connection to her--something like familial love. Something like pride.

***

The fourth funeral is her daddy’s, laid down without a liver, Hatlin’s having stolen everything that there was left of him. This one is back to Christian--back to how Hershel loved the Lord, how he’s with him now, and how his spirit will live on within all of them.

The family is small--Shawn standing beside his sister, his eyes red-rimmed and shot with something more than grief. Maggie is stoic. Her dress is familiar, the dress from funeral three. Patricia is nowhere to be found, her mind having collapsed under her years ago.

The preacher spends a long time giving the last two his condolences. Shawn nods along, thanks him profusely. Maggie never says a word.

***

It’s E and then it’s cocaine and then it’s heroin and then it’s nothing, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest. The casket is open at Maggie’s insistence, but it doesn’t have to be. She’s not seeing it and Rick’s not seeing it and there’s no one there left on the lawn that Maggie has stood on for four funerals and seven years.

This time it’s fall and a breeze is blowing in. The air is cool and Maggie’s dress is heavy this time, black and thick. Her hair is shoulder length now, and she seems thinner, more desolate. But her eyes are the same as they’ve always been. Piercing and uncomfortable.

She stands beside the casket, looking down, but not seeing. The preacher left her ages ago and Rick is counting this as hour three. She hasn’t moved and so he hasn’t moved. He’s waiting for the right time. He thinks it’s now.

But Maggie beats him to it.

“I can see you,” she says, her voice so southern sweet, but like aluminum foil ripped over chalkboard. Rick blinks. “I always could, you dumb fuck. Picking the wings off grasshoppers and tossing poison in the fish ponds.”

Rick hmms at that, surprised, but not that surprised. His soul bends toward Maggie like a compass.

“This is hard on you,” Rick says. “I could make it easier.”

Maggie straightens, but doesn’t look at him. Her gaze remains on the cold concreteness of her brother’s face.

“I could give you power,” Rick says. “I could offer it to you. Everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“I don’t want your goddamn power,” Maggie growls, her voice like the depths of ancient volcanos.

“But it’s so nice,” Rick says, “to have.”

“I don’t want _anything_ ,” Maggie hisses and finally looks at him, finally _forces_ him into those deep green pools of rage, “that you have to offer me. I don’t give a _flying shit_ about your power or your offers or your freedom.” Rick opens his mouth, but she coasts over him, beats him down like the ocean swallowing out the sand. “But I’m going to take it.” Rick frowns and narrows his eyes. “You know why?” she asks, letting the words tick out of her mouth like the slow clacking of a gun barrel round and round and round. “Because the thought, the very _thought,_ of not seeing you for the rest of existence...the thought of you not seeing _me_ , not looking at me and knowing that I know all of your little fucking secrets...it sickens me. I can’t _stomach_ it. And I would rather sell my soul to you, I would rather burn in the pits of Hell for the rest of my _life_ than let you get away with that. I want to be your reminder, Rick. I want you to see my eyes and I want you to think of your _dead boy_ and all the _fucking shit_ you’ve done to the world. I want you to _suffer_ because of me. And every time you cry, every time you wail and every time you scream, I want you to think of their names. I want them burned in like scars. Otis. Annette. Beth. Hershel. Shawn.” She takes a big breath into her lungs, pulls the autumn air in and speaks again. “Otis. Annette. Beth. Hershel. Shawn.” Again. “Otis. Annette. Beth. Hershel. Shawn. Otis….”

It’s hours before either of them move. And when they go to Hell for the very first time, they go together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it! This is Rick's backstory. The next chapter will go back to him and Daryl.
> 
> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [Going to Hell by the Pretty Reckless](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmtbg5b7_Aw)


	23. Pieces on the Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note, I have started posting a new fic called [Down Home They Lie To You, Son](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5134448/chapters/11814764). I am NOT stopping posting Spade, though. I'm just doing the totally crazy thing of posting both fics at once! And, just as a reminder, both fics are complete and just going through final editing stages! Spade is still posted on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday and Down Home will be on Monday and Friday. Thank you, guys!

When Rick releases his hands, Daryl falls to the ground, his knees collapsing under him. He tumbles backwards, crushing one of his wings underneath his spine and he keeps blinking away what Rick sees are dark spots in his vision. The silver in his wings curls into black for just a second and he’s visibly shaking, but despite all of that, Rick feels no sympathy.

And then the moment passes and Daryl is staring up at him. Rick swallows and asks, far softer than he probably should, “Get what you were looking for?”

Daryl opens his mouth and leaves it open, hanging there, until the word that Rick _knew_ he was going to say leaves his mouth. “Rick--”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Rick growls and even in his own ears, it sounds like the command of God. Daryl’s mouth snaps shut on instinct. “I have to go check on Judith,” Rick says and turns with a snap of his heel, gathers up his wings to fly.

“How are you even _standing_?” Daryl asks from behind him and Rick sighs, lets his wings lose their tension and flutter uselessly.

“I’ve had a long time to get used to it,” he tells Daryl without turning around. He pauses there, letting the world sink in around him again--the concrete under his feet, the breeze in the air, the sun up high and the birds in the trees singing. He waits until he hears the sound of Daryl gathering himself up and when Rick is sure that Daryl is approaching him, he launches into the air, spins himself up and away like a bullet, like the very definition of retreat.

***

When he arrives back at the house, he goes straight into Judith’s bedroom and finds her sitting crosslegged on her bed, fiddling back and forth with a picture she tried to take last year of Rick that never panned out. She looks up when he enters and then launches herself, rushes across the bed to him and flings her arms around his neck before he really even lands on the floor.

He hugs her tight, crushing her to his chest and buries his face in the shoulder of her green shirt. They stand like that for Rick doesn’t know how long and he marvels at how they don’t even have to use words, how little Judy only eight-years-old understands him better than anyone else in the world ever will be able to, even Daryl himself despite the fact that he’s _seen_ it now, despite the fact that he knows.

“I’m sorry,” Judith finally says and lets him go, collapses on her bed and looks small and forlorn. Tears are pricking at her eyes again and she rubs at them angrily, never having been a child that takes relish in crying. She’s tough as nails and twice as sharp and Rick hates to see her becoming so emotional.

He sits down on the bed next to her and gathers her to him, rubs her arm and tells her it’s okay.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Punch,” she says. “I _didn’t_.”

“I know,” he tells her.

“I just wanted to see Daryl.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to know where he went.”

“I get it.”

“I wanted to spend time with him.”

“Sssshhh, Little Monster.”

“I want him to love me again.”

“He does love you,” Rick tells her. “He does.”

“No, he _doesn’t_ ,” she says and pushes him away, crosses her arms and sits there looking for all the world like Rick does when he gets angry. “Stop _lying_ to me. You don’t _lie_.”

“Hey,” Rick grunts and grabs her chin, swings it around back to him. “I do _not_ lie to you. You’re right. I do _not_. So you listen to me, Judith Emily Walsh. And you listen _good_. Daryl loves you. He absolutely does. You’re his baby girl, his little light. He’s just distracted right now and you need to give him a break.”

Judith rolls her eyes to the Heavens. “ _What_ is he distracted with?” she snaps off.

“Me,” Rick says and then pauses, blinks rapidly and looks away.

Judith watches him, her eyes narrowed and calculating like Rick is one of her geometry problems and she needs to find the height and the width. “Are you gay?” she blurts out.

Rick balks. “ _What_?”

“Are you and Daryl gay?”

Rick scours his mind for any point in time in which she could have heard that word and if she even knows what that word _means_. They’ve talked about relationships only so far as Judith has wanted to, which pretty much equates to _Why does that princess like that guy? He’s a tool._ So how in the world does she even have the vocabulary to _ask_? “What?” Rick tries again.

Judith shrugs and crosses her arms tighter. “I googled it,” she says. “I saw these dudes holding hands and so when you were sleeping, I looked it up. That’s gay, right? When it’s a dude and a dude and not a dude and a girl? They kiss and stuff and is that what you and Daryl do?”

“ _Kiss and stuff_?”

“I saw you in the bedroom once,” Judith says and wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know what you were doing, but it looked funny.”

Rick blushes with the fire of all seven Hells and slaps a hand over his face. He’s not ready for this. She’s growing up too fast and he is _not ready_ to have _scarred_ her for life with her parents having _sex_.

“That was--” Rick starts, but Judith cuts him off with the full force of a car smacking into a brick wall.

“ _Idon’twanttoknowwhatthatwas_ ,” she says, waving her arms madly. “But I want to know if you’re _gay_. If you guys are... _together_.” She widens her eyes at him, beseeching, and what is Rick supposed to do? This is Judith and she deserves the truth. He doesn’t lie and he doesn’t avoid.

“Yes,” he tells her.

Judith sits up straighter, her caramel ponytail bobbing. “What does that mean?” she’s quick to ask.

“Well….” Rick swallows. He doesn’t even know where to begin. “You were right. A gay relationship is two men who are together. Or two women. Although, they call two women together ‘lesbians,’ too. And if you have a guy and a girl together, that’s a straight relationship.”

“How do you know if you’re going to pick a girl or a guy?”

Rick shrugs. “That’s a little harder to answer.” He chews his lip and thinks. “Everyone has urges. And they’re different urges for different people. Basically, you just like who you like. Most people in the world like the opposite gender. So if you’re a guy, you like a girl and if you’re a girl, you like a guy. But not everyone. Some of us are wired differently. So sometimes guys like guys and girls like girls. And you can’t change it. It is who you are. And some people like _both_ genders and they fall in love with whoever they find and either way, they’re happy.”

“Is that how you are?”

Rick scoffs. “ _No_ ,” he tells her simply.

“So you’re gay, then. You like guys.”

Rick nods.

“Why?”

Rick pulls his knees up and rests his elbows on them, stares at her and wonders how in the world this is somehow _just as hard_ as showing Daryl his whole fucking life. “Because only a guy can complete me.”

Judith stares at him with a frown on her face and her forehead crinkled. Rick knows it _upsets_ her not to have a cold hard fact, not to have something to point to and say this is the way of things. “ _Why_?” she asks with determination.

“Men are...hard. Rough around the edges. They don’t need hand-holding and they don’t expect it of you. You’re never the leader in the relationship because society doesn’t expect you to be that and you never have to fight to be an equal, you just _are_.”

“Women are tough,” Judith defends. “Women don’t need hand-holding, either.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “I know. That’s not what I meant. It’s just...Daryl used to take care of me. And I used to need that.”

“ _Used to_ ,” Judith picks up on, her eyes sharp like a falcon’s.

“Used to,” Rick says again. “We...we had a big fight. When you were a baby. And we’ve never...got over it.”

“Why?”

“Because it was a big fight.”

“What was it over?”

“My past.” Rick frowns and wonders how his day went downhill so damn fast. He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair and then over his horns.

“Is that what you were showing him?” Judith asks.

“Yes,” Rick says with a sigh, trying not to think of concrete walls, how many times he walked through the carefully manicured cemeteries, and how all of it must have felt to Daryl, how _human_ and _raw_ it must have seemed.

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes,” Rick says, seeing Daryl on the sidewalk, looking up at him with those _eyes_. “He didn’t look so good when I left him, but he’ll be okay.”

“I mean you,” Judith says. “Did it hurt _you_?”

Rick blinks and stares at her, studies how she’s looking at him with all her focus, pinning him under her gaze like a beetle under a thumb. “Yes,” he admits.

Judith scoots over, straight to his side and hugs him. Rick grunts and wraps his arm around her, pulls her close. “I’ll never leave you again,” she says and squeezes her eyes shut.

Rick leans down, kisses her wispy hair. “I know,” he says and runs a hand comfortingly over her shoulder. “But...is it okay if I go for a moment? I have something I need to do.”

“What’s that?” she asks and looks up at him.

“I need to go talk to Maggie,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because she’s my friend. Kind of.”

Judith frowns hard, but releases him. “How long are you going to be?”

Rick shrugs. “Awhile. You can hang out with Merle.”

Judith rolls her eyes and scoffs. “ _Merle_? All he does is talk about motorcycles and watches some show called _Breaking Bad_.”

Rick blinks. “Um, Judy? Don’t watch that with him.”

“As if,” she says. “It’s boring as hell.”

Rick smiles at her. “Good girl,” he says and with one last squeeze of her arm, he gets up and retreats to the garage.

***

Maggie is sitting in the corner, lounging on the ground, one of her combat boots propped up on her knee. She’s leafing through a _People_ magazine and poking out the eyes of the celebrities with a pencil and Rick scoffs at her, flopping down and summoning, with a snap of his fingers, a bottle of Jagermeister.

She arches her eyebrow up at the bottle. “Haven’t had a drink in thirty four years,” she grunts.

Rick shakes his head. “And today is a _good_ day to break the record.” He tosses back a huge gulp of it and then slams it into her chest. She shrugs and takes a pull.

“Why are we drinking?”

“Because I have had a _shitty day_.”

Maggie smiles, slow and sinister. “I knew I felt particularly awesome.”

Rick thumps his head back on the garage wall and closes his eyes. “I need to be with you right now,” he says, “and I need you to shut up about it. I just need to _feel_ like I normally _feel_. I need you to make me uncomfortable, make me angry, make me _hurt_.”

Maggie’s smile wipes off her face and transforms beautifully into a frown. “What the hell happened to you?”

Rick laughs and opens his eyes, shakes his head at the ceiling. “I showed him,” he whispers. “Everything.”

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” Maggie says and takes a great grand drink of the Jager. She throws it back at Rick and he catches it easily, brings it to his lips and pulls at it.

After a moment, Maggie grunts. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Even--”

“Everything.”

“Well, fuck you in your ass. I didn’t give you permission to give that bastard my story.”

Rick shrugs. “I don’t really care,” he tells her.

Maggie crosses her arm and slams her combat boot flat on the ground. “You’re a _dick_.”

“When did you start hating me?” Rick asks suddenly.

“First time I saw your sorry ass,” Maggie clips out.

Rick shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.” He sighs. “When did you know that you were going to be a demon? When did that happen for you?”

Maggie sits there beside him and taps her foot. She stares at the red laces on her boot and then wiggles her leg back and forth. She shrugs at him. “Honestly?”

“Honestly,” Rick says.

“Annette’s funeral. I told you I always saw you and you never thought I did. And there you were, wearing red and walking around and being a pain in my ass and then Daddy…” She swallows and blinks. “...Daddy felt to the ground on his knees. He missed her so much. He loved her so much and God had just taken her away and he was there, crying and pining and it was a gift of God, the power he had in that moment. The love he had for that woman. And you, _you_ , you just stood there in your red and you laughed at him. _Laughed_ at him in his pain and I thought...I’m going to _get that fucker_.”

Rick stares at the white SUV in front of them in the garage, the headlights that have a dragonfly smashed up on them. The moment seems so raw, but so... _stupid_ , too. _She’s going to get that fucker_. Rick starts chuckling and then Maggie, incredibly, joins in and then they sit there, buzzed and laughing and it turns from giggles into the kind of shaking that takes up their whole bodies and the bottle of Jager sits between them, the centerpiece in their dance.

“It’s so _fucked up_ ,” Maggie says through the gaps in her laughter. “You in that _fucking red_ and I know now what you were doing, you little shit with all your _deflecting_ bullcrap, but it was just so fucking _irritating_. You’re like my own personal _gnat_ just buzzing around being a little annoying _cocksuck_.”

Rick laughs. “ _Speaking_ ,” he says, “of fucking cocksucking, Judith _caught us_.”

Maggie arches her eyebrows up and tilts her head. “ _Caught_ you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Rick says, “and I had to explain to her what _gay_ was.” He shakes his head. “God, my life is so _fucked_.”

Maggie shrugs and chuckles. “Isn’t it always?”

“Shit,” Rick says and leans forward, presses the bridge of his nose. “Maggie? Can I tell you something?”

“I’ll hold it against you for the rest of your life, but sure.”

Rick sighs and stares at the car again, the brand new model that Lori had bought three months ago and is sparkling clean except for the dragonfly. “I...I miss him.”

“Oh, shit me a brick,” Maggie says and flops over, slides down the floor like putty until she’s lying flat on her back. “I’m going to have to listen to your little fairy spiel, aren’t I? About how _strong his arms are_ and about how his dick is made of _spun silver topped with little rainbow jewels_.”

“You’re not being very helpful.”

“I know,” Maggie says and spins her head to look at Rick. “That’s what I mean to do.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Fuck this,” he says and takes a huge drink of the rest of the Jager. “I know it’s early, but I’m going to go find him. A good fuck will fix me.”

“Not if you miss him,” Maggie says as he stands up. He ignores her and walks inside.

***

Rick doesn’t bang into the room this time, but opens the door and then spends a really long minute shutting it and making sure it’s latched. Daryl sits his book down and frowns at Rick, watches the way he tugs on the door handle just to test that no one’s getting through. “You okay?” he asks and Rick grunts.

“Judy saw us,” he mumbles. “One night. Don’t know when. Just want to make sure this thing is _goddamn shut_.”

“So we’re fucking again,” Daryl says, and it’s not a question.

Rick shrugs. It’s not seven yet, but whatever. He didn’t think Daryl cared that much about the actual timing of when Rick crawls up on him and has his way with him and fuck it, this isn’t for Daryl anyway so why is he spending time thinking about what _Daryl_ would want? “Yes,” he says bluntly and jumps up on the cloud, takes off his pants and gets into their normal position.

Daryl grunts. “You know you could--”

“Shut up,” Rick says and puts his hands on Daryl’s chest. “You know you’re supposed to shut up.”

Daryl snaps his jaw closed and nods and Rick pulls Daryl out of his jeans, positions himself and slides Daryl in, ready and stretched like he normally is. He starts riding and closes his eyes, arches his neck to the ceiling. Daryl fills him nicely and puts his hands on Rick’s hips as usual and Daryl in him and the Jager still in his blood make Rick fuzzy. He slows down his rhythm and it’s not so hard anymore, not so stark and made just to bring them to fruition. It’s slower, the rolling of waves that filter onto the beach when the tide comes in, and it’s that motion, that slow and steady coming together of their bodies that causes Rick not to jump and fling himself away when Daryl bends up, wraps his arms around Rick’s waist and flips them over so gentle and smooth that Rick barely notices it.

His eyes fly open and everything changes. The cloud under his back cushions him and Daryl moves in him of his own volition for the first time in six years and Rick gasps despite himself at the way that Daryl touches him, at the way that they bend together smooth like two knives melting together under the heat of a great fire.

Daryl reaches up, puts his hands in Rick’s hair and touches his horn buds because Rick is human like he normally is, even though he suddenly wishes with everything in him that his tail was out, that it could curl around Daryl like it used to in those days so long ago, that it _would_ if Rick had the power to release it, that it could have the capacity for that kind of thing again. But he’s scared of it. He’s a coward. So instead, he lays there, stills his body and lets Daryl move in him, lets Daryl _have him_ , fuck him so softly into the cloud.

Daryl leans down and Rick panics, but he just puts his head on Rick’s shoulder, presses their bodies together and even through the shirts they still have on, it’s _so close_.

Rick pulls up one of his legs, hooks it around Daryl and lifts his hip on a thrust. Daryl moans into his ear and angles himself to hit Rick just right and Rick gasps at the ceiling, picks a point where the little tiles bump out and focuses all of his energy on that so he won’t be focused on how he wants to flutter his wings, how he wants to arch his horns, how he wants to take Daryl’s halo and put it on himself in some way, some how, just like they used to even though this isn’t what this is anymore and why is he torturing himself? Because it _hurts_ , Daryl being in him like this, trying to pour emotion back into a jar that’s cracked and broken, scattered out glass pieces on the floor.

“Rick,” Daryl breathes in his ear and Rick feels a lump in his throat forming, but instead of saying anything, he just grunts and arches his hips up into Daryl, lets Daryl ride him out and then reach between them--bold--to touch him, stroke him.

Rick closes his eyes at the touch, opens his mouth and it’s the wrong move. Daryl’s lips land on his, soft like feather down and behind his shut eyelids, Rick blinks. Daryl kisses him slowly, with the pace of mountains forming, of lakes filling up, of forests regrowing after a fire--the little shoots getting bigger and bigger, growing trunks and branches and leaves, arching upwards out to the sky.

His tongue slips in and Rick touches it, his head coming off the cloud to move further up to Daryl, to give him _access_. Daryl moans in him softly and somewhere in the mix of it all, Daryl starts coming, starts filling him up, but this time it doesn’t _matter_. And it doesn’t matter that Rick is finishing, too, right there between them, because Rick’s hands are suddenly in Daryl’s hair and Daryl’s tongue is still in his mouth, his lips still moving on Rick’s like all the words that Rick could never say to him, all the things that he could never truly _express,_ are being passed between them right there and what unhinged in Rick? What happened when he showed Daryl those awful, _terrible_ things?

Daryl breathes into him and then gently removes his mouth from Rick’s, pulls them apart and as their eyes open together, Daryl blinks down at him and smiles, runs his hands through Rick’s curls and says, so softly, so _sweetly_ , “You kiss me like you still love me.”

Rick swallows and wants so desperately to look away, wants so _desperately_ to not say what he hears himself gathering breath to say. But he can’t take it back. Because it’s the truth, even though he hates it. “No,” he says and blinks rapidly at what’s forming in the corner of his eyes, tells himself _do not do that_ , “I kiss you like it’s breaking my heart that I used to.”

He watches as the expression on Daryl’s face falls, as his shoulders tick down and the corners of his mouth, which were smiling, turn downcast and fall into a flat, pinched line. It hurts. It hurts _so much_ and so Rick looks away to the wall and tries to calm his beating heart. “Rick,” Daryl says and that just pushes it over.

Rick squeezes his eyes shut and the first few drops of _stupid_ water leak out. “Don’t,” he says and wants to punch himself for how his voice breaks. “ _Please,_ ” he begs, “I can’t take it. I can’t. I’m so tired, Daryl. I’m so tired and I wish I wasn’t this way. I wish I wasn’t _stone_ , but I am and I can’t do this. How can I do this? I can’t trust you again. _You hurt me_. You didn’t care about me, when I _needed_ you and I can’t forget it even though I want to, _I want to_. I _want_ to.”

“Sssshhh,” Daryl says and leans down, tilts Rick’s face toward him. Rick keeps his eyes shut because he can’t look and Daryl leans forward to place his lips on Rick’s forehead. He lets them linger as he whispers against Rick’s skin. “I told you I’ll make it better. I’ll never give up.”

“We can’t do this,” Rick tells him. “I can’t come in here anymore.”

Daryl stills, his body tense above Rick. “What?”

“I can’t. I _can’t_. We have to stop fucking.”

Daryl puts his thumb under Rick’s chin and tilts his face up and Rick finally opens his eyes. Daryl looks as desperate as he feels. “Please don’t take that away from me,” he begs.

Rick shakes his head. “Why do you want it? I just _use_ you.”

“Because,” Daryl says and his eyes flicker with movement, searching Rick’s expression. “I get to see you. Rick...I don’t care. I don’t care how hard you use me. But from seven to seven fifteen...I get to _see_ you.”

Rick shakes his head, unable to take it. He pushes at Daryl’s chest until Daryl slides out and falls back on the cloud and then he stumbles to the ground and grabs his clothes, tugs them on. “Please,” Daryl begs and his voice sounds as broken as Rick’s. “Tell me what to do. _Anything_.”

Rick sighs and stands there in the guestroom, feeling used and raw and unable to process anything that has happened on this incredibly shitty day. He shakes his head and thinks about what Daryl is asking, about what Daryl could do to fix it. He wants desperately for there to be an answer, but his heart knows there isn’t one.

But then he looks at the door. Looks at it locked and sealed away from Judith’s eyes. “You can’t do anything,” he tells Daryl. “I don’t think this is fixable.” He takes a huge breath into himself. “ _But_...if it was...if there was ever anything you could do...you need to spend more time with Judy. She misses you.” Rick turns to his side, casts a glance over his shoulder at Daryl. “And I’m tired of telling her all the time that you love her and not having anything to point to to convince her that you do.”

Daryl blinks. “Judy...doesn’t think I love her?”

“Talk to her,” Rick says, “and see.”

He turns then and gathers his courage, slips out the door and down the hall. He spends a long time in the shower composing himself, getting back that tough shell that he uses to guard himself from just these kind of moments. He pokes holes in the shampoo bottles and puts incurable mildew spots around the facet head, makes the drain slow up and the bathroom fan get this loud ticking sound as it rotates.

Feeling better, he gets out, dries himself off and heads into Judy’s bedroom. She quickly retreats to the bathroom herself, but is back within fifteen minutes and sits down on the couch where he’s snuggling in. She blinks up at him and then sticks her hands between her knees like she does when she’s feeling shy. “I brushed my teeth,” she tells him. He grunts. “Three times.” He grunts again. “I even used _floss_.”

“Stop it,” Rick tells her and looks up, ducking his chin down and giving her that look that says _you don’t fool me, little girl, I know exactly what you’re doing_.

“What?” she says innocently.

“Stop trying to make up for something that you did by doing other things you _should_ be doing anyway. And _stop_ ,” he tells her and kicks at her side playfully, “feeling guilty about this morning. You didn’t realize and I forgive you.”

Judy sighs and then nods. “Okay,” she says and gets up, walks over to her bed and crawls into it. “Rick?” she asks.

“Hmm?”

“Do you love Daryl?”

Rick sighs and Judith must pick up on the sound, how _tired_ it is coming out of his lungs. “I was just asking,” she says and then pauses, flips on her side and tucks herself down into the covers facing away from him.

Rick shuts off the lights and lays there on the couch for awhile before he realizes he can’t take it. He switches into his demon appearance and crawls up on the ceiling, pulling his wings in around him tight and willing them to be a little cave that will protect him.

But nothing protects you from eight-year-olds on a mission.

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Judith says, “if you love me and can forgive me, why can’t you forgive him?”


	24. Logical Things

The morning is typical. Rick wakes up and makes oatmeal this time, throwing in the three kinds of berries that Judith likes and leaving out the raspberries she hates. He brings it to her and instead of poking her awake this time, he jumps on the corner of the bed and shouts his lungs out until she flails about and hits his kneecap hard with the proper fist technique that he’s taught her. He yells “ _OW_ ,” but gives her the point and watches as she eats her breakfast.

Afterwards, it’s patty-cake again and this time Judith wins with glee and rushes off to the shower on a high note. Rick rolls his eyes at her, but takes the dishes into the kitchen, throws them in the sink, and then goes to wake Maggie up by throwing one of Judith’s baseballs at her chest. He wakes Merle up with a summoned shot of fire right above his eyebrows and then...well, then he walks down the hall to the second guestroom, knocks lightly and then immediately leaves, feeling like a complete and utter idiot.

When Judith is out of her shower, they go back to equations. Rick reviews the circles with her and determines that she’s got it down pat, so he moves onto the basics of triangles and solving for the missing side.

They’re about fifteen minutes in when Daryl walks out, standing awkwardly in the living room between where Noah is texting, Maggie is trying to pluck a feather off of Merle’s wings without him noticing and Rick and Judith are sitting at the corner table with the workbook open. Everyone freezes and stares at him and Daryl just shifts on the balls of his feet like he can’t quite keep still.

The room is silent except for Noah’s fingers moving steadily over the keys--click, click, click, click. Rick shuffles his gaze down to the table in front of him and flicks his tail under the chair. “Good with triangles?” he asks.

Maggie rolls her eyes hard and gives Rick a very knowing stare and Rick makes a face at her.

“T-triangles?” Daryl asks and frowns.

“ _Geometry_ ,” Judith says with a huff. “That’s what we’ve been _studying_ all week.”

“Oh,” Daryl says and takes a small step toward them. “I, uh...don’t know much about your studies.”

Judith arches her chin up and looks down at her workbook. “ _Well_ , the pytha, the piega... _Rick_.”

“Pythagorean.”

“ _Pythagorean_ formula says A squared plus B squared equals C squared, so that’s how you find the area of a triangle.”

Rick nods at her and then ever so subtly uses his tail to push the chair beside Judith out, offering it to Daryl. Maggie makes a loud gagging sound and falls down on the carpet, rolling around and moaning. Daryl ignores her and walks forward with a sudden rush of motion, depositing himself into the chair with a loud thunk. “Tell me about it,” he grunts at Judith.

Judith blinks her eyes and slides them over to Rick, but Rick just shrugs and inclines his chin toward Daryl. “Well, go ahead. You’ve got that problem in front of you.”

Judith picks up the workbook and shows it to him, slamming her index finger down alongside the top of a triangle piece. “So I don’t know what _this_ is,” she says, pointing to the little “C” that runs along the edge of the top. “But I know what this is,” she points at the side, “and this is,” the bottom, “and so I can solve for C.”

Daryl smiles at her. “You’re very smart,” he says.

“ _Psssh_ ,” she tells him and gives Rick an eyeroll, “I haven’t solved it yet, stupid. How do you know I’m smart?”

Rick chuckles and leans across the table. “Because you _are_ , stupid. We can just feel the smartness waving off of you.”

He flips his tail up onto the table and flings it across to pat her on the head. She swipes at his tail and he jerks it away and then she tries to catch it and he wraps it quickly up around her neck and starts tickling her and then she scream/laughs in rage and so Rick just chuckles and pulls his tail back into himself.

Only he’s not paying much attention to where it actually goes and as it slides back across the wood to him, it bumps Daryl’s hand. They both jump like a fire poker has skewered them. Daryl jerks his hand back toward his chest and Rick jerks his tail toward his body and manages to eloquently slap himself in the face in the process. Daryl grunts and starts apologizing and then Rick starts apologizing and Judith looks at both of them with a wrinkled nose and a half open mouth like this is the most disgusting thing she’s ever witnessed.

And then--thank _Carol_ \--Maggie, across the room and not paying attention to the cluster going on at the table, manages to snag a feather. Merle howls and Maggie cackles and then Merle is diving for her, demanding his property back and they make such a ruckus that Rick has time to pull his tail in tight to his lap and firmly tell it to _stay there_.

Once everything calms down, it’s Judith who speaks first. “SO,” she tells Daryl, drawing out the word. “I have to solve for C.”

“Oh!” Daryl says with a grunt. “Sure. C.” He blinks and stares at the workbook and Rick watches them for a moment as they pour over the problem. When he sees that they’re in a nice groove and that Daryl knows his stuff and can teach her well, he scoots back his chair as silently as he can and stands up, walks back in the kitchen and decides to do dishes for a change. He, of course, leaves little stain spots all over them just where Lori will find, but that’s beside the point.

***

Judith gets tired well before she usually does and Rick recognizes that she needs a break, so when they get to the end of a workbook section, he nudges Daryl in the shoulder, forcing the angel to glance up at him. “Think she needs some space,” he mumbles.

“Oh,” Daryl says, chewing on the inside of his lip like he does and looking crestfallen. He places his hands on the table, uses them as leverage to push the chair back and stands. “I got books to go through anyway.”

He turns and starts walking back to the guestroom and Rick sighs, squeezes his eyes shut briefly, and wonders when he got to be such a pansy. “You want to come outside with us?” Rick calls after him.

Daryl pauses and turns, his profile toward Rick. He shifts his weight to the other foot and grunts.

“Judy likes to play while we fly around,” Rick tells him. “You could...join in. If you like.”

Daryl pulls his hand up to this mouth, chews at the corner of his thumb, and then shrugs, flinging his hand down to his side again. “Could take her to the park.”

Judith perks up at that, leaning forward in her chair and swinging her ponytail around. But Rick shakes his head quickly, disturbing both of them. “Too public for a girl to be out and about when it seems like no one’s watching her.”

Daryl inclines his head in agreement. “Out of town, then,” he says and nods at Judith. “Do you want to go take a walk with me?”

Her eyes light up like stars on a clear winter night and Rick’s heart beats rapidly in his chest. _Love him_ , he thinks, _but don’t stop loving_ ME.

But why is he even worried? Because Judith swings around to him eagerly and says, “Can we go? Punch, let’s go outside! Please?”

Rick smiles at her and walks over, ruffles her ponytail until she grimaces at him. “Sure. Go outside town,” he says and then takes a deep breath and tries to still his shaking hands. “But why don’t you go with just Daryl?”

She blinks. “ _Just_ _Daryl_?”

“Yeah,” Ricks says, trying his best to keep his voice even. “You want to spend time with him. That’s why you followed him to the library, right? So you guys go. And have a good time.”

Daryl comes forward slowly and Rick can feel him approaching his side like a lobster feels the pressure in a crockpot. His skin bristles, but Daryl doesn’t make any move to touch him and stops well within friendly distance. “Are you okay with that?” he asks Rick.

Rick grunts. “You’ll take care of her,” he says and looks at Judith. “And you’ll listen to him and _whatever he tells you_ , you will _do it_ the same as if _I_ told you.”

Judith nods rapidly and scoots out of her seat, curving to Daryl’s side. Rick looks at the two of them, Daryl’s eyes narrowed at Rick and Judith’s eyes wide at Daryl. He doesn’t know what to do with either of those things, so instead he says simply, “Be safe.”

***

Rick tries hard not to follow them. He _really_ does. And to his credit, it lasts all of ten minutes, which he feels like gives them a good headstart.

It’s not very hard to find out what Daryl meant by “outside town.” There’s only one big section of national parkland close by the city that gives any kind of privacy and even if Rick didn’t know that, he still curves east, toward the sun, the presence of Judith or Daryl or both of them pulling Rick in like a moth to a fire.

He lands at the edge of the woods and works his way in slowly and surely until he hears their voices. When he does, he flies up quickly into the thick of a boxelder tree, hiding in its upper branches where he still has a good view.

Daryl is leading her around and pointing to things and she’s following his gaze with rapt attention. “The difference,” Daryl is saying, “between a Brewer’s blackbird and a grackle is the head. See, the head is iridescent--”

“What does that mean?”

“It glows. Well, sort of. Iridescent means that when it’s in the light it looks a different color. Grackles have these bluey-green heads. And Brewer’s don’t.”

“I thought a bird was just a bird.”

Daryl crooks his mouth up at her. “Nah,” he says and then picks up a branch, tosses it at a pine tree and listens as it cracks against the trunk. Three birds take flight from the tree, rushing and cawing out from the leaves and Judith grins at them as they fly away. “Everything’s always more complicated than you think,” Daryl says.

“Are you gay?” Judith blurts out and Rick rolls his eyes in his leaves. _That little twerp_ , he thinks to himself, recognizing the exact inflection and roll of her question. _She was practicing that for me. For US._

Daryl chuckles. “Guess so,” he says. “Rick said he already talked to you about all that.”

“Yeah,” Judith says, “but I’m asking _you_. Are you and Rick gay?”

Daryl shrugs and points to a second pine tree further back. “Hear that chirping?”

“Another bird?” Judith asks in exasperation.

Daryl shakes his head. “Squirrel. They’re louder.”

“Do you love him?”

Daryl turns to her and stares down into her face. Judith stays still, her stance wide and her arms crossed. “Yes,” Daryl says with a nod. “Of course. I always have.”

“And he loves you?”

Daryl sighs and suddenly flops down onto the ground, positioning himself so that he’s leaning against the trunk of a tree. He pats the ground beside him and Judith collapses, sticks her feet in the grass and wiggles her shoes. “No,” Daryl says and Judith tilts her head at him. “Rick doesn’t love me. He used to. A long time ago. But he doesn’t any more.”

“Why not?”

“Because he…,” Daryl sighs and runs a head through his hair, scratches at the back of his head. “He’s angry.” Daryl shrugs. “And he’s sad, too.”

“Why?”

“Because he lost someone.”

Judith picks at the grass beside her and selects a blade, pulls it out of the ground and starts folding it in half, then half again, then half again. “Was it a kid?”

Daryl and Rick blink at the same time. Rick scoots back further into the tree and very quietly brings his wings around his side to tuck them in. Hanging loose from the branch, his tail starts to sway.

Daryl, for his part, pulls back and studies her. “Why do you think that?” he asks.

Judith shrugs. “He’s...he gets really upset when I’m, like, sick and things. Or hurt. Or he thinks I could get hurt.” She tosses the blade of grass away and rips out another one. “And...I don’t know. He’s just such a good dad. I just...thought maybe he had other kids.”

“He did,” Daryl says softly and Rick both thanks him for telling her because how could he bring himself to talk about this with his little girl and at the same time hates him for taking this moment from him and Judith.

“And he lost them?”

Daryl nods. “Yeah. They got hurt really bad and...and yes. Rick lost them.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

Daryl shrugs and looks to the other side of him, frowning. Rick can see the up-and-down motions of his jaw as he works his teeth against his cheek. “I...I was supposed to be there for him. I was supposed to help him heal. And I wasn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because...because I was stupid,” Daryl says and sighs. “Because I thought I had time. And you never have as much time as you think you do.”

Judith frowns and stares at her new blade of grass. “I don’t like that,” she tells him bluntly.

“What?” Daryl asks.

“All that vague stuff.”

Daryl smiles. “You want numbers and patterns, don’t you?”

Judith nods quickly. “ _Yes_. I like those. They’re really easy to understand.”

“Well…,” Daryl says and then looks up at the tree that he’s under. “So, here’s how it was. I had to solve for C.” Judith looks over at him and waits. “And Rick was C. Rick was the thing that I had to solve. And I knew two things.” Daryl holds up his index and middle finger for emphasis. “I knew how fast I could fly. And I knew how fast Rick would last alone on Earth.”

“Okay,” Judith says, “so you didn’t solve it?”

“No.” Daryl shakes his head. “It’s like...I thought that the time that Rick would last alone on Earth was four.” He frowns. “But I missed a number somewhere and it wasn’t four. It was _negative_ four.”

“I hate negatives,” Judith jumps in.

Daryl scoffs and nods his head firmly. “ _Me too_.”

“Rick should forgive you for that,” Judith tells him. “We all make mistakes.”

Daryl sighs and arches his eyebrows, stares at the grass in front of him. “It was a _pretty_ big mistake, Judy.”

Judith grunts and stares out over the woods again. Far away, a bird calls and she casts a sly glance at Daryl. “What’s that?” she asks.

Daryl smiles. “Barred owl,” he says.

“How do you know that?”

Daryl laughs. “It’s a pattern. Listen for it. It sounds like someone saying ‘who-cooks-for-you.’”

Judith tilts her ear up and listens and when she hears it, she smiles wide and free, which causes Rick to smile in his tiny tree nest. He loves her with everything in him, his little monster, his girl who asks so many questions about him, who just wants to know him and just wants him to be happy. She’s a little shit, that’s for sure, trying to hook him and Daryl up like this is the fucking _Parent Trap_ and she’s going to be both twins rolled into one, but she has such good intentions. She’s so calculated, but so innocent, too, and he wants to rush out there and hug her for it.

And Daryl. He needs to tell him thank you for taking care of her, for keeping her safe. Even if Rick can’t love him, even if he can’t be with him, can’t trust Daryl with his own heart, at least he should be able to trust him with Judy’s. Because Daryl is as much an influence as Rick is--these damn bird calls will be as much a part of her growing up as Rick teaching her she doesn’t have to take shit from the schoolyard bully and how to flatline him straight in the gut. She’s both of theirs--rough and tumble, soft and sweet, and his body itches to jump out of the tree, to fly to her because it’s so unusual, so strange, to be this far away.

And Judy must sense it, too. Of course she does. Because with a swing of her head, she turns to Daryl and says, clipped and true, “Let’s go get Rick.”

She pushes herself up and rushes across the forest. Daryl opens his mouth, making a huffing sound, and stands to chase after her. Rick barely has time to get a good flap of his wings and a swish of his tail under him before Judith is under the boxelder and scaling it up to Rick’s position. “You little _brat_ ,” Rick chuckles at her. “Did you know I was here the _whole time_?”

“Of course,” she says and grabs onto the branch that Rick is on, pulls herself up next to him. “You’ve only been with me my _entire_ life and you’re a really bad hider.”

Rick rolls his eyes and then glues them to the ground, where Daryl is standing under their tree and blinking up at both of them. Daryl shields his eyes from the sun and as his hand moves to sit softly against his forehead, Rick finds his eyes--little blue sparkling diamonds. Rick blinks at him and swishes his tail softly in the tree, the spade ticking back and forth like a little clock...to Judith, to Daryl, to Judith.

To Daryl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG!
> 
> [No Rest by Dry the River](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3iUHfAChgBA)


	25. Eighty and Sunny

Judith coaxes Rick down from the tree until all three of them are on the ground and, despite the fact that Rick’s been a demon for over forty years, he acts like a little schoolgirl, curling his arms around his chest and ducking his head down and feeling fucking _shy_ for some reason he can’t quite put his finger on. He swishes his tail and just grunts when Daryl asks if Rick wants to walk with them, but follows the angel and the girl as they weave through the forest, Daryl pointing out plants and animals and telling her what they are.

Eventually, though, Judith gets tired of the bluets and the American toads and starts skipping ahead, kicking rocks and picking up twigs to break them. She keeps casting flickering glances back toward them and Rick _knows_ what she’s doing, the little stinker, but even despite his knowledge of her plan, it works, because Daryl falls into step beside him and sticks his hands deep into his pockets. “Didn’t know you were there,” he mutters.

Rick grunts.

“Uh...sorry,” Daryl says and steals a glance at Rick through the hair that’s fallen into his face. “For talking to her about it.”

Rick grunts again.

“You okay?” Grunt. “You didn’t have to sneak around, you know.” Grunt. “You could have just come with us.” Grunt. “It would have been fine.” Grunt. “ _Rick_ \--”

“Yes, _yes_!” Rick says and grumbles. “I get it.” He keeps his arms tight across his chest. “I was just...scared.”

Daryl sighs. “I knew we should have stayed at the house.”

“It’s not like I can keep her cooped up forever,” Rick says and slides his gaze up to Judith ahead of him. “And...it’s not like I have the right to keep her from you. Or you from her. It’s just...weird. I need to be by her. In case...in case.”

Daryl nods. “I know,” he says and then lifts his hand, reaches out into the gap between them and lets it hover over Rick’s arm before falling down uselessly. “...we could go home,” Daryl says softly.

Rick shakes his head and nods to the path ahead. “She’s having fun.”

Daryl snorts. “No, she’s watching us for any signs of weakness.”

Rick lets a small smile crack onto his mouth. “That’s her version of fun.”

“Well, it’s not mine,” Daryl says, but his voice is light.

“Well, what do _you_ want to do?” Rick asks him.

Daryl shrugs and looks at the trees around them, the grass and the small dirt path under their feet. “Fly,” he says. “That’s _always_ my version of fun.”

“Okay,” Rick says because that’s something _easy_ , that’s something that his body can do. He lifts his wings and jumps, lets himself enter the air on muscle memory and curve and twist to just the right spot. He flaps over to Judith and then starts moving in tight circles around her.

A large gust of wind hits him and a shadow casts itself over his upper body and he looks up to see Daryl’s great grand wings stretched to their absolute maximum. Rick swallows in awe. Below them, Judith shrieks in a happy giggle and watches as they tumble in the air above her.

Daryl takes up a point place, keeping Judith in his shadow at all times and Rick ducks and weaves through the trees and the brush, pushing himself hard and fast, just so he can dive and cut and practice in the natural obstacle course. He banks hard to his right and flashes through the trees, goes into and then out of a pine. He pushes himself low to the ground and heads to the path that Judith’s walking on, buzzes past her and then circles her again before darting up as she tries to grab ahold of him.

He gets too close to Daryl, who pulls back and flaps at Rick’s oncoming momentum. Rick stills and they hover there for a moment, their wings making small little ticking motions to keep them afloat.

And then Rick slowly starts to circle him, too, starts to weave in and out of where Judith is walking and Daryl is flying. Daryl dips with him and matches his course, twists to keep in sync with the way that Rick is flying. They move in and around each other like symmetry, like the sun and the moon, like what they really and truly are--an angel and a demon--and for a moment, it’s simple. It’s just a little dance, just the wind and the trees and Judith below them rushing along as they fly.

Daryl fans his wings out, huge again, and starts soaring and Rick dips and circles around him, fascinated with the way that Daryl’s eyes never leave him.

And then, from the ground, Judith’s voice with the perfect Rick-like inflection, “ _I’m bored_.” Rick rolls his eyes at her and glances down, sees her standing there with her hands on her hips. “You’re just _flying_. Why can’t _I_ fly?”

Daryl chuckles. “You can. Do you want to? I can carry you.”

Rick balks. “And risk someone seeing a girl flying through the air?”

“Isn’t that what you do in the backyard?”

“Yeah, the _backyard_. At _home_.”

“Got an easy fix for that,” Daryl says and dives, grabs Judith and flips her up into his arms, “we’ll just go above cloud cover.”

Rick’s mouth falls open. “ _Cloud cover_?” he says. “That’s _high_.”

“ _Oh my god, do you mean above the clouds?!?_ ” Judith asks, her eyes big and the smile on her face uncontrollable.

Daryl grins back at her and with a powerful stroke of his wings, starts soaring higher and higher, above the treetops and up and up and up. Rick growls and shoots after him, beating his wings to catch up. “DARYL, DON’T YOU DROP HER!” he yells from behind them and tries to put himself in a good spot so that if she falls, he can catch her.

“I’ve got her,” Daryl tells him in a soft voice and they begin to hit the cloud line. Rick frowns and soars up into it, but loses them in the fog. When he finally breaks free, he casts his gaze around in panic until he sees Daryl soaring lazily between two strings of clouds, the sun breaking in only minimally to give light.

Rick frowns and beats his way to them and starts circling again, watching Judith with all of his attention for even the smallest sign of a fall. “Here,” Daryl tells her, “you can get on my back.”

Rick shrieks. And how is he going to do that? Move Judith from his arms to his back without _letting go of her_? Rick swings forward and grabs onto her arms with vice like nails.

“Ow!” Judith says and then, “help me climb up.”

Daryl chuckles and Rick glowers at him. “She’ll be fine. Just put her there and she can hold on.”

Rick debates his options--between doing what Daryl says and grabbing Judith and dropping like a rock to the ground. But Daryl is confident. And Judith is happy. So he’ll give this a _shot_ , even if he doesn’t like it.

He grumbles and helps Judith rearrange until she’s laying on Daryl’s back. He lets her go slowly and makes sure that she’s stable before flying right beside Daryl, his eyes narrowed in focus. Judith squirms around until she gets into the position she wants--her arms crossed over Daryl’s back and her chin in her hands. She smiles at Rick and Rick just quirks his mouth back. “You’re good? You feel balanced? You’re not going to fall? If you feel yourself leaning, _even for a bit_ , you grab on, okay?”

“I’m fine!” Judith tells him and shakes her head, flinging her ponytail into the wind. “Higher,” she tells Daryl.

Daryl looks over at Rick and quirks an eyebrow. “The little lady spoke,” he says and flaps his wings to soar into the second set of clouds. Rick grumbles and follows him, feeling that old wing envy kicking in at how Daryl’s wings can take him so far, so fast, and Rick’s feel like tissue paper.

When the second set of clouds break, the world changes. The blue sky comes back into focus again, so bright and brilliant up here, removed from the city. The sun shines like newly made glass and the clouds, from their vantage point, bump and roll out like little hills below them. Judith gasps and grabs ahold of Daryl’s neck. Rick lifts his hands to steady her, but with just a twitch of Daryl’s muscles, she’s okay again. “ _Look at that_ ,” she says with awe, staring down at the scene below them. “This is what you see everyday?”

Daryl smiles. “All the time.”

Judith grins over at Rick and looks around her at the sky, before asking, “Where’s Heaven?”

Daryl slides a quick glance to Rick and gives him a knowing smile. “In the biggest pile of clouds you can see.”

Judith spins around and tries to pinpoint which ones those could be before she thinks better of it. “You _liar_ ,” she tells Daryl. “That’s not true. Because what happens on days when there aren’t any clouds?”

Daryl laughs. “You got me,” he says and banks slow and careful to the left. Rick follows him, puts his hand out to steady Judith. “Heaven is...elusive. You don’t go to Heaven unless you _mean_ to go to Heaven. You have to will it. And when you will it, then it’s there. In clouds so soft, they can heal you, with gold streets that shine, and water that is so clear you can see through it for miles and miles and miles.”

“Sounds boring,” Judith says and Rick laughs and feels fuzzy and warm.

“ _Totally_ boring,” Rick agrees.

“How do you get to Hell?” she asks him.

Rick shrugs, his wings beating extra hard to keep him afloat with the motion. “Any city sewer system,” he says, “and any broken heart.”

“ _Hell_ ,” Daryl tells her, “is not a place for a little girl.”

“Good thing I’m not little,” she tells him. “I’m tough. I’d like to see it.” She lays her head in her chin again and smiles. “I’d like to see both.”

Rick smiles. “Maybe one day you will, Little Monster.”


	26. Questions and Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a dingbat. I apparently have 39 chapters instead of 40. I updated it!
> 
> Update: OH MY GOD, GUYS! SKARLATHA IS THE MOST AMAZING PERSON EVER! She commissioned me art as an early Christmas gift! Thank you so much to her and thank you so much to the artist [maxkennedy24](http://maxkennedy24.tumblr.com/)! Please see the image below and click on it it to go straight to the Tumblr post to give the artist love! I am SO HELLA EXCITED!

Judith makes it back to the ground safely and they all return home in time to finish a couple afternoon lessons about poetry that Judith kicks and screams about, but eventually settles down to complete. Daryl, with just the tiniest of shy, flickering glances in Rick’s direction, excuses himself to go back to his room and his books and Rick lets him. Despite the fact that the day has been _nice_ , it’s exhausting. Rick feels weak in everything from his head to his toes to his tail to his veins and the emotional rollercoaster that he put himself on when he grabbed Daryl’s hands like that, so tight and _angry_ , so filled with the need to show him, is finally catching up with him.

So Rick tries to let his mind go still. He helps Judith understand the difference between poetry and fiction and guides her in interpreting the words of the particular piece that they’re working on. Things go slow for her and she furrows her brow often, huffs and tosses the book back and forth at various intervals. He makes her go through it for a good forty-five minutes, though, before releasing her to the backyard to cool down for a bit. He doesn’t invite anyone else out this time, just sits with her as they catnap on the back porch, Dumbass slobbering right next to her ear. She doesn’t say much and that’s okay, because Rick’s head is spinning too much for him to feel coherent.

And then it’s six forty-five and Lori is home. Rick watches as she follows her normal ritual--walking in the door and hugging her daughter, then dismissing Noah with her ever present _thank you_. Lori takes a bag of groceries into the kitchen and spreads them out, starts making lemon pepper salmon for dinner. Judith sits on the barstool at the counter and talks to her mom and the minutes tick by--six fifty-seven. Six fifty-eight. Six fifty-nine.

Rick frowns and shuffles his feet on the tile, bends his body half toward the living room and flicks his tail. He lets a long sigh go from his lungs and walks through the house, decides to sit at the corner table in the living room, stands up, decides to go into the bathroom and make streaks on the mirror, decides that’s stupid, goes to wait in Judy’s room for her, decides that’s stupid, too, and finally--as he knew would happen--ends up standing in front of the guestroom door, swaying his tail softly behind him and wondering whether to bust in, knock, or go the hell away.

The door doesn’t help him decide. It just sits there, being hard white wood. Rick lifts his head to the ceiling and squeezes his eyes shut and reaches for the doorknob. And then pulls back. Because he can’t. It hurts so much right here, standing in the hall, so how much more is it going to hurt inside? Rick thinks of how soft the cloud felt on his back, how safe Daryl was above him. He can’t. He just _can’t_. How can he open himself up like that ever again? How can he ever trust, ever know that the whiplash isn’t coming, that he’s not going to get smacked in the face by a brick wall just when he thought he was in the clear?

So instead of opening the door and instead of walking away, he just sits. He rests his back against the door and leans his head on the wood and just rests there. Because at least this way, he’s _close_. At least this way he can balance out what’s becoming a strong desire sitting in the pit of his stomach to be close to Daryl at the same time that he doesn’t have to _see_ him, doesn’t have to look into his eyes or see that crestfallen expression on his lips, that thin and hard line, and he definitely doesn’t have to talk to hi--

“Hey,” Daryl says through the wood and Rick frowns. Fuck. He wills his body to be quiet and still and doesn’t say anything, but Daryl adds, “I heard you.”

Rick shakes his head at himself and pulls his knees up slowly, wills his boots not to make noise on the hallway floor. He dangles his hands off his knees and just sits there, stubborn and silent.

[ ](http://maxkennedy24.tumblr.com/post/132863662912)

Through the wood, he hears Daryl sigh. “I miss you,” Daryl says, soft into the crack between them.

Rick swallows. “...I miss you, too,” he says, his voice just a puff of air. But Daryl picks up on it.

“Rick--” he starts, but Rick can’t let him finish. He _can’t_.

“It’s why I can’t go in there,” Rick explains. “It just hurts both of us.”

Rick hears the distinctive sound of a thump that must be Daryl’s head against the wood. “I don’t care. I don’t care if it tears me up inside, Rick. Please come in?”

“Daryl--”

“Please?”

“ _Daryl_ \--”

“You _have_ to. Alright?” Daryl sighs. “You have to or...or you have to find someone else. Maybe you should. If you can’t forgive me, you should be happy and so maybe...maybe you should just go fuck Maggie or something. Go _find_ someone.”

Rick tilts his head to the side so that he can lay his cheek against the white-washed wood. He stares at a dust spot in the corner of the hall and lifts the toe of his boot slowly, sets it back down. “Maggie?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Daryl says with a grunt. “You seem close.”

Rick smiles, slow and sad. “But she doesn’t have your pretty cock.”

Daryl snorts. “Is that all you care about?”

“No,” Rick says, quiet but even. “I…” He closes his mouth, because what is he going to say? What _can_ he say?

“Please come inside?” Daryl asks again. “We don’t have to do anything. Nothing at all. I just want to see you.”

Rick blinks and reaches up, touches the door handle and sighs. “O-okay,” he whispers. “But…” He grimaces to himself and stands, lets the heels of his boots click loudly on the floor as his human appearance shimmers into focus. He reaches for the door handle and tugs it open, listens to the sounds of Daryl sliding away and standing so that Rick can walk inside. Rick does and shuts the door, locks it, and then falls back on it, ducking his head and refusing to meet Daryl’s eyes. “There are rules,” Rick continues.

“Okay,” Daryl says and Rick sees him nod out of his peripheral vision. “Anything.”

“You can’t kiss me,” Rick is quick to say and then he looks up, pours himself straight into Daryl’s eyes and blinks at the intensity. He has to look away, to the gold-ring in Daryl’s human hair before he can say, “And you can’t be in me.”

Daryl stares at him, searching his expression, and then nods once, quick and confident. “Okay,” he says.

“And don’t ask me to change,” Rick adds.

Daryl nods again and chews at his lip before taking one step closer. “So...dirty.”

Rick blinks. “Dirty?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says with a shrug. “Let’s fuck and let’s do it dirty. As hard as we can.”

Rick knows what Daryl’s doing. _Fuck him_ , he knows. But even if Rick is aware that Daryl is just catering to his need to deflect, he takes it, drinks it up and sucks it in and nods fast and loose. “ _Dirty_ ,” Rick says and the word sounds like such a relief on his lips, “ _yes_.”

And then Rick is grinning and Daryl is grinning back and, with a burst of movement, Daryl shoves himself up against Rick, banging Rick’s head back into the door. “I’ve been thinking,” Daryl says and pulls his own lower lip in between his teeth, runs his eyes up and over Rick’s body like lava pouring onto the Earth, “about what I want to do to you. I’ve had six years,” Daryl growls and puts his mouth right up next to Rick’s ear, purrs into it, “to think about what I want to do with you. What I want _you_ to do with _me_.”

Rick chuckles and lets it rumble deep into his lungs. “If you’ve got ideas, baby,” he arches his eyebrow, “use them.”

Daryl grunts and then bites down on Rick’s earlobe and Rick gasps at it, lets Daryl’s teeth go into his skin and then work their way down to Rick’s throat, to his jawline. Daryl starts walking backwards and loops his fingers in Rick’s belt, tugs Rick along with him until Daryl’s knees hit the cloud he’s lowered there and they tumble back onto it. Rick laughs as they roll into a good position and Daryl starts reaching for things like buttons and zippers, pulling off clothing as he goes and not giving a fuck if it rips, if it tears.

Rick lets him, closes his eyes and lays back while Daryl undresses both of them with rapid speed and quick, shaking hands. “God, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Daryl is muttering and Rick lets him do it, lets him _talk_ like Rick hasn’t let him talk, lets him _touch_ like Rick hasn’t let him touch. “The things I keep thinking about. _Shit_. You’ve ruined me forever with this crap, Rick.”

“Is that what you’ve studied?” Rick laughs. “At the library all these years? Been watching porn?”

Daryl arches up Rick’s body and puts his hand on Rick’s chest, digs his nails in and scrapes them down. “And thinking about you while I do it.”

Rick’s eyes sparkle. “Have you really--”

“Going to suck your cock,” Daryl tells him and bites his lip again. “Going to put my mouth _all over you_.”

Rick can feel his eyes blowing wide, can feel his breath catching in his throat, and all he can do is nod and spread his legs, now naked and waiting for Daryl. Daryl grins, the mischief in his eyes rivaling any demon’s and he starts kissing, starts working his mouth down Rick’s body with his tongue and his teeth and his lips and _pressure, pressure, pressure_.

Rick moans and arches his body up into Daryl, feels their skin sliding together, smooth and natural. Daryl nips at his chest, his stomach, his thighs. He rakes his nails down Rick’s side as he goes, too, leaving river trails of scratches. Rick feels extra sensitive, extra _on edge_ , and he wonders just how much it’s going to take before he’s sent crashing into that bottomless pit of orgasm that Daryl is steering him straight toward.

And Daryl is being a fucking _cocktease_ about it, too, licking at Rick’s thighs, at his happy trail, at the spaces all around Rick’s cock that are _not Rick’s cock_ and Rick wants to grab his head, wants to smash it down onto himself, but he also wants Daryl to never touch him ever, to draw this out for as long as possible because it’s fucking _delicious_ and he hasn’t had real, raw sex like this in six fucking years, so why rush it now?

Daryl bends his mouth to the side, nips at Rick’s thigh and then grins up at him, licks the spot that he marked. “ _Fuck_ ,” Rick breathes and Daryl chuckles.

“Am I doing a good job?” he asks Rick and Rick’s head is already snapping into a nod before Daryl even finishes his sentence. “Good,” Daryl tells him and kisses his thigh. “Because there is _so much more_ I want to do and I want you to enjoy it.”

“Don’t have to worry,” Rick breathes out and then involuntarily lifts his hips up. “ _I am_.”

Daryl chuckles, low and rough against Rick’s skin and Rick shivers despite himself. “Going to use my tongue,” Daryl tells him, letting the words click out of his mouth. Rick watches in awe as Daryl’s lips move, as the pink tip of his tongue touches his teeth and comes out further to lick his lips and then dart back inside. “I want to taste you, want to map out _everything_ with my fucking tongue--”

“Do it,” Rick interrupts, hissing and arching his hips.

“Needy fucker,” Daryl chuckles and then leans forward, holds Rick’s gaze as he grabs the base of Rick’s cock and strokes firmly up, just once. Daryl smiles and leans forward, opens his mouth and darts just the tip of his tongue out to run over the slit and Rick’s eyes roll back in his head. Daryl laughs and Rick wonders what that laugh would feel like if his cock was in Daryl’s throat with it--the rippling vibrations of his lungs in merriment.

Rick bites his lip to keep from moaning and then Daryl is sliding his mouth down, over the head slowly and Rick is covered in delicious, wet heat. “ _Daryl_ ,” he breathes out, which encourages him and Daryl takes him down and down--not all the way, because after all, this is the first time he’s done this--but enough. He strokes what he doesn’t have and sucks hard, puts pressure all over Rick’s cock and Rick gasps out to the ceiling, his hips arching up sharply without his say-so.

Daryl grunts and lays his free arm flat against Rick’s thighs to hold him down and then he starts bobbing, starts moving his mouth up to just the tip, then down to cover Rick’s cock, then up again. He puts pressure in just the right ways, swirls his tongue in _just the right way_ and Rick hears his own voice grate out into the guestroom, “Not going to make it if you keep doing this.”

Daryl pulls off with a little pop that sends an electric shock up and down Rick’s spine like fingers over a xylophone. “Mean for you not to,” Daryl says with a wink. “Taking the edge off, baby. Then we can do the really dirty shit.”

Rick tries to grunt and swallow at the same time and ends up making a fool of himself, but Daryl just chuckles and goes back to it, bobbing his head like a fucking _expert_ and Rick suddenly realizes what a damn position he’s put himself in with a guy that’s been _watching porn for him for six years_.

Daryl strokes him again with a long hard pull and puts his tongue right there up against the underside. Rick rolls his eyes back and even though he wants to hold on, even though he wants to be a man about it and not a teenage boy, he still throws his head back and gasps out, “ _Shit_. I’m going to come.”

Daryl doesn’t take that as a sign to pull off like Rick thinks he might. No, he takes it as a sign to go _deeper_ , pulling Rick into his mouth hard and fast until Rick’s cock hits the back of his throat and _Carol_ , Rick thinks, _fucking save me from sex kitten angels_. And then Daryl is tightening his mouth, drawing Rick up and in and Rick can’t stand it anymore. He bucks and starts crying out, opens his eyes and _meets_ Daryl’s gaze, no longer a cool blue, but _hot_ like the Caribbean ocean and Rick feels the tremor in his body cascade over him as he comes, starts spilling himself down Daryl’s throat and Daryl groans loudly at the feel of it, pulling up just enough to make sure that Rick streaks his tongue, heavy and wet and _complete_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Rick says when the last of it has gone from him, “ _you_.”

Daryl laughs when he pulls off and starts wiping at the corner of his mouth. He’s rolling his tongue around in his cheeks and grinning like a fool. “In a minute,” Daryl tells him.

“You have _no right_ to be that sexy,” Rick says with a laugh and Daryl just chuckles along.

“Like it,” he tells Rick and licks his lips, the bastard. “The taste of you.”

Rick smiles and lets his head fall uselessly back on the cloud. He flips his arm up over his eyes and shakes his head. “Don’t know how quick I’m going to get up after that.”

“It’s okay,” Daryl tells him. “I have a lot I want to do.”

“A lot you want to--?” Rick tries to ask, but he finds out pretty quickly what Daryl means. Daryl chuckles and presses Rick’s thighs into the cloud so that they’re flat. He spreads him out nice and easy and then starts, with very careful and controlled licks, cleaning him off. Rick’s eyes go back into his head again despite himself and he hisses at how sensitive it is, but how _good_ it is, too.

Daryl takes his time, moving his head lazily as he cleans Rick and then, when he’s done, he moves onto Rick’s thighs, goes back to kissing them softly again, nipping at them and licking away the little marks he makes with his teeth. And then he goes lower, down to the base of Rick’s cock and under.

Rick grunts when Daryl’s tongue touches his balls, light at first and then more bold. Daryl reaches forward and cups them with his hand, rolls them around soft and light and if anything could make them fill up again, it’s _this_ \--Daryl touching him so reverently, _mapping_ him like he said he was going to, his tongue drawing out the contours of the new world.

Daryl nuzzles him and Rick can feel Daryl _smiling_ against him and that just causes him to chuckle and work his hips down into Daryl’s mouth. Daryl smiles and starts mouthing him softly, starts working his lips up over Rick’s balls and it’s almost at the line in which it’s too much, but no. Daryl has it down perfectly. Because when Rick starts to feel just the slightest too sensitive, Daryl pulls off.

And goes down further. Daryl hooks Rick’s leg up over his shoulder and tilts him and Rick can see where this is going, but he’s not going to stop it. Because even though he’s sensitive, even though he’s just come less than ten minutes ago, he _wants_ it. Because he lied. He lied like a motherfucker. He wants Daryl in him, _some_ part of Daryl, even though he himself has moved Daryl’s dick off the table. So he can at least have Daryl’s tongue, can at least give Daryl that.

Daryl circles his opening slowly, his mouth _right there_ and Rick groans despite himself. He’s still not up yet, it’s still too early, but his body hasn’t stopped singing a chorus that sounds suspiciously like Daryl’s name and so he arches his hips for him, whispers _yes_ so that Daryl will know just what he wants.

And then Daryl slips his tongue inside--smooth, just the barest of the tip--and Rick moans. Daryl’s squeezes his hip encouragingly and moves his tongue, presses it in further and flattens it out and Rick reaches out to the side of him, digs his fingers into clouds and pulls just to give him something to do, somewhere to release the tension.

Daryl brings his tongue back into himself and then presses it forward again in a mockery of fucking and Rick’s mouth falls open. He explores Rick slowly, so very damn _slowly_ , until Rick loses track of time, until it could have been two minutes or twenty that Daryl is at him, his tongue coasting in Rick like a river pathing new courses, new roads, new beginnings.

In the middle of it all, Daryl brings his fingers to work as well, his tongue and knuckles working together to drag themselves inside of Rick and around him. And then Daryl finds it, finds that _part_ of him that no one else gets to touch and Rick gasps out as Daryl’s finger rolls across his prostate at the same time that his tongue flattens itself out at the very start of his entrance. Rick bucks down into him and Daryl groans loudly, pulls back and then arches again. Rick is hard now, so very _ready_ , and words threaten to fall off his lips, words like _I changed my mind, fuck me,_ like _get in me and never get out_ , like _hold me and don’t let go,_ and _make it better, please make it better, please find a way to make me okay again_.

But that’s not what this is. And they both know it.

Daryl pulls off and smiles, slow and true, as he straddles him. “Ready?” he asks and Rick blinks rapidly so Daryl won’t see the emotion growing there, even though that’s stupid, even though Rick knows that Daryl can feel it hanging in the air between them like summer humidity.

Rick grunts. “What are you going to do?” he asks, ignoring how he feels empty.

“Thought I’d try what you do,” Daryl says and rolls his hips down so that his skin brushes Rick’s cock. “Thought I’d ride.”

Rick bites his lip and nods. “Gotta get ready first,” he mutters, to give himself something to say.

Daryl nods. “I know. Do you…” he inclines his head, “want to get me ready?”

Rick thinks about that, about sliding his fingers inside Daryl--about that first time with Daryl over him and Rick’s spade deep within, moving, making them one. No. No he can’t do that. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. He shakes his head and Daryl rolls with it, shrugs and waits for Rick to summon a bottle that he can use.

Rick watches idly, as dispassionately as he can, as Daryl lifts his hips up so that he can get at himself, slips his fingers inside and prepares. Rick’s hands find their way to Daryl’s hips, but he holds them lightly, barely touching the skin as Daryl moves to position himself.

And then Daryl has Rick in his hand and he’s sliding down, smooth and arched and perfectly compatible and Rick’s fingers push into Daryl’s skin harder, start guiding him in his actions as Daryl pulls up and then goes down, pulls up and goes back down.

“Hard,” Rick forces himself to say, even though that’s _not what he wants_. “Rough,” he growls. “ _Dirty_.”

Daryl grunts and nods at him, grabs Rick’s hand and brings it to his chest. Rick pinches his nipple as Daryl starts slamming down, lifting up with hard momentum and letting his body fall back on Rick’s with force, with _speed_. Rick snaps his hips up with each thrust, gets into it and lets his mind go blank, lets his body just feel. He reaches down and takes Daryl into his hand, starts stroking and feels Daryl so hard and so ready--because hasn’t he been? Hasn’t he been for the last damn hour or however long he’s taken to bring Rick to fruition and then explore him achingly slow like the slide of glaciers to their final resting place?

Daryl’s voice hitches and he breathes out Rick’s name and Rick suddenly can’t take it anymore. He can’t take how far apart they are, how his skin touches only some of Daryl and not all of him, how he wants so desperately for them to belong to each other again. He arches up, grabs Daryl and wraps him into his embrace and flips them. Daryl moans loudly as he does so and Rick buries his face in Daryl’s neck to stop himself and tells himself no. Hard. Fast. _Dirty_.

And so Rick goes for it, slams up inside and Daryl cries out, wraps his legs around Rick’s back tight and secure and rolls with him, bucks his hips thrust for thrust. Rick lets go of all inhibitions, lets Daryl _have it_ , lets himself _take him_ and Daryl--still in his hand--twitches with it. Rick forces out all other thoughts of things like _softness_ and _coming home_ and focuses instead on getting as far up into Daryl as he can, thrusting as hard as he can, filling him as _thoroughly_ as he can.

Daryl’s nails dig into his back and Rick becomes aware of the words he’s saying, of Rick’s name on his lips and the way he’s pleading for Rick to finish him, finish him, finish him and so Rick does, twists his wrist and hits that spot _ever so right_ and watches as Daryl’s entire body bucks with the force of his orgasm, glances between them to see white staining both of their bodies and with one last grunt, with one last slam so thoroughly in, Rick is coming, too. _Claiming_ him.

And then it’s over. And Rick snaps his body back like a rubber band, pulls out of Daryl and collapses to the side of him, his face turned away to the wall.

Rick listens to Daryl’s breaths, loud and fast at first and then calming down, slowly, slowly, slowly…

“Fuck,” Daryl whispers to the room. “You’re really good.”

Rick grunts.

“Thank you,” Daryl says to him, “for coming in.”

Rick shrugs and tilts his body even further away. He can’t look. He _can’t._

“And thanks,” Daryl keeps going, “for staying wi--”

“Why do you love me?” Rick asks and then kicks himself.

“What?”

“Why do you love me?” Rick asks again with a sigh. “When I’m so _mean_ to you? When I’m...so broken?”

Silence greets him and Rick refuses to turn on his side to the see the expression on Daryl’s face. Either way it will end him.

Daryl sighs softly into the room. “You know...it’s funny,” Daryl says with a grunt, “the way that a person can see things that other people can’t see themselves.”

Rick frowns. “What do you mean?”

Daryl sits up and Rick feels the cloud bend and sway as he pulls his knees up into a crosslegged position. “Rick…” Daryl starts, “you’re so strong. Do you know that? You are. You _really_ are. You’re not broken. You could _never_ be broken. You…” He trails off and Rick gathers his breath to say something, _anything_ , but nothing comes to him. He lets go of the air from his lungs slowly, lets it evaporate into the room and waits. Daryl clears his throat. “I still feel empathy for you. I mean...I can still feel your emotions. You feel...weak. All the time, you think of yourself like _weakness_ , like this brittle glass that is already snapped and has just tumbled all over the place, but that’s not what you are. You know? That’s not you. You’re unbreakable. You take and you take and you take and you deal with so much. When you…” Daryl stops himself and Rick can hear his swallow. He imagines watching Daryl’s Adam’s apple bob, imagines what the look in his eyes would be, the expression on his face. “When you... _showed_ me, I couldn’t... _I_ could barely take it. And there you were, just standing. Just _standing_ on that fucking sidewalk and…” There’s the rustle of movement as Daryl shifts. “...and acting for all the world like nothing was wrong. Like this was just fucking day-to-day life. And I thought...who, _who_ else could be like that? Who else could take the things that you’ve taken and stay standing?”

“I’m a demon,” Rick whispers. “That’s what we’re like. I’m not special.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Daryl says with a growl, “you are. How many demons are there down in the firepits who can hold an honest to God conversation without going batshit insane? How many of them have lost grip on their minds or their souls? How many of them just lie down there forever because they can’t _get up_? Because they can’t stay _standing_? And here you are. Standing.”

Rick closes his eyes briefly, lets his eyelashes touch his cheeks and then squeezes, lets the moment pass. And then he sits up, too, turns slowly to Daryl so that Daryl can look at him, so that _he_ can look at _Daryl_. “So you love me,” he asks, “because I’m strong?”

Daryl inclines his head and smiles, nods. “That’s one reason,” he says and reaches out for Rick. Rick watches his hand as it slides through the air, as it slowly lands on the curve of Rick’s cheek. Daryl’s thumb runs over his skin comfortingly and Rick blinks, leans into it. “And because you’re brave. Because you don’t give in. Because when you set your mind to something, you _do_ it. Because when you love, you love with the fire of everything in you. Judy couldn’t _have_ a better parent. Fuck Lori and fuck Shane. You know it’s always been you and I _admire_ you for that. For your dedication to her. And…”

“And?” Rick prompts.

“And…” Daryl says and ducks his head down, slowly slides his fingers from Rick’s skin. “And I love you because I need you.”

Rick furrows his brow. “You _need_ me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Daryl breathes and it sounds so raw, so _desperate_ , spoken out loud between them. “Rick, I…” Daryl swallows. “I was nothing before I met you. Do you know that? I didn’t know who I _was_ until I met you. I was just...just floating through my life. I rescued people, but I didn’t _understand_ what that meant. Because you were right. You were so right and you’ve always been so right. I treated you like a job. I did. I wasn’t flying fast enough because I didn’t feel it, I didn’t _understand_. I thought I was helping and I thought…” Daryl trails off and shakes his head, stares at the cloud in front of him. “I thought I was happy.” He sighs. “And then I met you. And then I _was_ happy. Really happy. Truly happy. For the first time in my _life_ and I realized it had all been a lie. You know? I just coasted through everything for everyone else...for Michonne and for Merle and for the other angels and for the people I had to save and I never took the time to _understand_. I never took the time to really think about what _I_ wanted. What _I_ needed. And what I _want_ and what I _need_ are you.”

Daryl swings his gaze to Rick, latches on like velcro and even if Rick wanted to, he couldn’t look away. Daryl’s words are so raw, so honest and _true_ , ringing in the space between them, and Rick’s blood rushes with the force of comprehending it. His thoughts are a whirl, his head swimming with too much information, but all the processing, all the thoughts and the logic and the defining fade away, are cast aside by one true emotion--connection. A return empathy for how Daryl feels.

Rick swallows and watches as Daryl follows his motion and then reaches out slowly to touch Rick’s cheek again. “So that’s why I have to be brave,” he tells Rick. “That’s why I have to be unbroken, just like you. And that’s why I have to _hope_ , why I have to _keep trying_ , why I can’t let anything stop me. Because I will never be happy again until I’m in your arms, I swear it. It’s the _truth_ , Rick. It’s truer than anything that God has ever told me.”

“So what do we do?” Rick asks, because he doesn’t know where else to begin.

Daryl sighs, looks away, and drops his hand again. He stares at the cloud in front of him and shrugs. “I don’t know?” he tells Rick. “I guess...I guess we just keep standing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG (and kind of the theme for the whole story!)
> 
> [Fall for You by Secondhand Serenade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKi125iqnFg)


	27. Custody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already seen the awesome fanart that is in chapter 26, please go check it out! Skarlatha commissioned it from the wonderful artist [maxkennedy24](http://maxkennedy24.tumblr.com/)! Please go view it and then click on it to bring you to the Tumblr post to give it some love!

In the morning, Rick wakes not to the sun or to the slow slide of the dawn into day, but to a hand on his shoulder, gripping and lightly shaking. The motion is so irregular, so outside of the comfort zone that he has set for himself, that he panics, wakes with a jolt and shoots up off the couch and into the air, bangs his head on the ceiling and squeaks in pain before his mind catches up enough to realize that it’s Daryl who woke him and Daryl who is standing below, wide-eyed and holding out his hands to Rick in a calming gesture.

“ _Shit_ ,” Daryl hisses and jerks his head to look at Judith, but she’s always been a sound sleeper.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Rick whispers back and drops to the floor.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Well, you’re a dick,” Rick tells him, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes. “What do you want?”

Daryl pauses and chews at his lip. “Outside?”

Rick glances over to Judy, who’s still fast asleep. He doesn’t want to leave her and his tail flicks at his indecision, but eventually Daryl reaches forward and grabs his arm, starts steering him away and he rolls his eyes and lets him. Daryl carts him around to the backdoor, which is just around the corner from Judith’s room, and Rick blinks at the dawn as he steps outside and crushes dew under his foot.

“Okay,” Rick says in his normal speaking voice, “what do you want?”

The instant Rick speaks, a frown appears on Daryl’s face. He looks away from Rick and shrugs, starts shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I, uh, gotta tell you something.”

Rick narrows his eyes. “Don’t know if you can fuck me up more than the last time you said you had to tell me something in that tone.”

Daryl sighs and shakes his wings from his back, flutters them in the air. “Please?” He sighs. “ _Please_ listen before you fly off the deep end?”

Rick scoffs and tightens his arms across his chest. He glares at the kiddie swimming pool they have set-up in the corner for Dumbass. “Just say what you’re going to say. Whatever it is.”

“ _Please?_ ” Daryl asks again, but Rick is so tired of that word. He’s tired of hearing it, tired of thinking it, tired of almost whispering it between their bodies.

“Say it.”

Daryl sighs and shakes his head. “Okay. I, uh...I have to go to Heaven.”

Rick pauses. He lets the words sink in while he watches the old water Lori should have poured out by now and how it’s collecting mud at the bottom of the pool. “Heaven,” he says.

“Yeah,” Daryl whispers and starts to fidget with his own fingers restlessly. “Something I have to do.”

“You have to go to Heaven,” Rick clarifies, “to do something.”

“Rick--”

“--you have to go to _Heaven_ to _do_ something.” Rick rolls his eyes high up into the air and shakes his head with such force it’s a wonder that he doesn’t give himself a headache. “Unbelievable,” he says and talks over Daryl’s gathered breath. “Un- _fucking_ -believable.”

“Rick--”

“Don’t,” Rick says, glaring at him, his voice weary. “Fuck. Daryl, just...don’t, okay? I’m so...shit. I am so tired. I... _Carol_. Going back to Heaven. You know the _stupid_ thing? You know what is just so,” Rick dips his head back and stares at the sky, “ _fucking pathetic_?” He looks back at Daryl. “It’s that you _almost_ had me. You almost did. And now…” Rick shrugs. “Heaven. Okay. Have a good time, I guess.”

He turns to leave, but Daryl surges forward and grabs his arm, keeps him from retreating back into the house. Rick frowns, but doesn’t break away. “I don’t--” he starts, but Daryl cuts him off.

“It’s been six years,” Daryl says, gripping Rick’s arm with all he’s got. “I haven’t been back. In _six_. _Years_.”

Rick scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Sure. I believe that.”

“Have you?” Daryl snaps. “Been back to Hell. Have you?”

Rick pauses and stares at Daryl, at how wide his eyes are, how intense they look. He shakes his head to clear it and shrugs out of Daryl’s grip, slaps his tail on the grass and turns back to the house. “Not the point.”

“It _is_ the point,” Daryl calls after him. “Don’t you get it? Everyone I know, everyone I ever cared about is up there and I haven’t gone back. It would have been pretty easy for me, too, you know. With the way you act. But I didn’t. _For you_. Because I knew it would hurt you--”

“So why now?” Rick snaps, spins to him angrily. “Why _fucking_ now, Daryl? After last night? Why…” Rick trails off, tells himself to _shut up_.

“Because I have to. No, Rick,” he says when Rick starts to talk, “stop. Okay? I have to and I’m sorry, but I wanted to tell you before I left and I promise you I’m coming back. Nothing is going to stop me.”

Rick scoffs. “Sure. Okay. Try not to get yourself punished again this time, though. That went pretty shitty for you before.”

“You’re being a bitch about this.”

Rick arches his eyebrows and his arms fall from his chest. “ _What_?”

Daryl sighs. “That’s not what I--”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Rick says. “Just _fuck you_. For playing around with my goddamn heart. Fuck you, Daryl. _JESUS_. You’re such a fucking _tool_ sometimes. Go fly off to Heaven if you want to. _I’m not stopping you_. Go do whatever the fuck it is you little angels like to do. I don’t give a shit.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I _don’t_ ,” Rick tells him and thumps his tail harder. “I don’t care what your little,” Rick raises his fingers in air-quotes, “‘something’ is that you feel has to be done. But go do it and stop whining about it. And let me tell you one thing,” Rick says and points at him hard, glares him down. “I don’t care if you come back for me. Fuck you for saying that. But I _do_ care about Judy. So look me in the eye when I say this, you feathered fuck.” Rick takes a step forward aggressively, lifts his wings from his back to make himself look bigger, angrier, and arches his horns to point them in Daryl’s direction. “If you have to _stab God_ in her _jugular_ ,” Rick hisses, boring his gaze into Daryl’s eyes, willing him to understand, “you come back for _Judy_.”

Daryl stares at him, his body leaning away from Rick’s fury, his feet refusing to budge. But then, like the sudden crack of motion on a snow slope, the first avalanche wave coming down, Daryl reacts.

He pushes forward into Rick’s space, grabs his arms and starts shoving backwards, follows him until they both stumble over the yard to smack into the side of the house and then Daryl is right up in his personal bubble and his hands are no longer on Rick’s shoulders, they are on Rick’s cheeks, and Daryl is leaning in and Daryl has him, _fuck, he has him_ , and they’re kissing, long and hard and passionate and Rick can feel every vibration, every twitch, every tremor of Daryl’s desire and energy and _love_ flowing through him from his lips and his teeth and his tongue straight up into Rick’s mouth and Rick digs his nails into Daryl’s back, pulls him in and can’t help but respond, can’t help but tilt his head and dive into it like Daryl is diving into it, want it like Daryl wants it, _need_ it like Daryl _needs_ it and then Daryl is pulling back and is staring at him, pupils wide and irises intent and he says, against Rick’s mouth like a fucking prayer, “I’m coming back for both of you.”

Rick blinks. He opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but Daryl is already in the air, his strong wings already beating up to the sky and Rick is left leaning against the side of the house, his knees threatening to give, his heart thumping in his chest like a wild and erratic bird.

***

It takes Judith all of three minutes to pick up on Rick’s utter grumpiness and badger him about it, so they end up sprawled on the couch, foregoing patty cake after Judith eats her half-assed breakfast of scrambled eggs plus some last minute thrown-in swiss cheese.

Rick grumbles and crosses his arms, refuses to look at her and twitches his tail back and forth, listens to it thump against the upholstery between them. She rolls her eyes and reaches over, smacks it until it lays flat and then arches her eyebrows in a way that’s way too artful and way too Rick for an eight-year-old girl. “You’re pouting,” she tells him.

“Am not.”

“‘Little girls that say ‘am not’ after someone says they’re pouting prove they’re pouting,’” Judith quotes back at him and Rick hates his own damn logic.

“Am not,” he says again and Judith just sits back and frowns, resting her head against the sofa.

“Is it Daryl?” she asks and Rick grunts because of _course_ it is. “It IS Daryl,” she says and Rick shrugs. “Why?”

“He went to Heaven,” Rick tells her and his spade starts up again. _Thump. Thump. Thump_. She smacks it.

“Isn’t that what angels do?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t mean he should have, though.” _Thump. Thump. Thum--_

Smack. “What’s so bad about it?”

“That’s how he screwed it all up last time.”

“How?”

“Because he left.”

“Why?”

“Because God told him to.”

“But he came back?”

“Yes.”

“So how’d that mess it up?”

_Thump. Thump. Th--_

“STOP IT,” Judith growls and balls up her fists, hits him in the shoulder with the full brunt of her muscles.

“OW!” Rick says and elbows her lightly. He rubs at his shoulder. “He...it’s hard to explain, Judy.”

“I can understand,” she’s quick to say.

Rick sighs. “Okay,” he concedes. “Daryl went to Heaven even though I didn’t want him to. And while he was up there...God told him not to come back.”

“But he did?”

“Yeah. He did.”

“So everything was fine.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t tell God no without being punished.”

Judith frowns. “So how was he punished? Was he locked up or something?”

“No. He...he thought he was going to get struck by lightning. Or hurt. Or have his magic taken away or...there were lots of possibilities. But none of that happened.”

“So what DID happen?”

Rick sighs and looks at her, her caramel hair falling around her face, not put up yet for the day. Her eyes are so big and liquid, her daddy’s eyes, but Rick reflects in them like the shining sun. She studies him, waiting, and what is Rick going to tell her? How does he form the words to say how he and Daryl split, how they broke off to become this divorced and damaged family? She doesn’t deserve any of this and Rick wishes so desperately that it didn’t have to be this way. That when Daryl kissed him alongside the house, it was because they both wanted it, because they both needed a second to just themselves, a second of trust and companionship shared during the early hours of dawn.

But instead here they are. And he has to say something. “I fell out of love.”

The truth is hard and cold in the morning air. But this is Judith. And she deserves it. “I found out that...that Daryl had hurt me and I fell out of love. That was his punishment. To keep loving me when I didn't love him.”

Judith screws her eyes up. “Sounds like a Disney movie,” she says and Rick chuckles at her, nods, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” he says, “a Disney movie.” He sighs. What is he going to do? Judith is so _curious_ , so ready for her parents to come back together again and Rick wants it. Oh, he does. But he can’t have it. This morning proves that. If he lets his heart open _even once_ , Daryl will break it. And Rick doesn’t think he can go on. Not after Carl and Jessie. Not after Maggie. Not after Daryl the first time. And then a second time? No. It would end him.

But he has to keep going. For her. For Judy with her quick eyes, her strong legs, and her sharp mind. For Judith who will grow into this amazing woman, no matter what choice she makes, who will be _influenced_ and _guided_ by Rick. Who will be loved by him and doesn’t she deserve the world? Doesn’t she deserve the best life possible?

So he has to be an adult about this. He has to be a _man_ and take his balls into his hand and fucking grow up. If he can’t be around Daryl, then it’s easy, isn’t it? If he can’t be around Daryl then...then he can’t be around him. Then they can’t touch. They can’t talk. They can’t see each other.

And Judy...well. Children learn to live with custody arrangements all the time.

***

Rick locks all his thoughts up into a little box for the day and focuses intently on triangle equations, on making Judith a proper lunch, and on trying to solve the debate that’s going on between Maggie and Merle about whose magic is better. He walks through the day on autopilot, numb, and Judith clings to his hip with single-focused attention, trying to make him feel better, the poor girl.

The day slips into night easily and they sit down and play Monopoly without Daryl. Merle sucks pretty badly at it and Maggie ends up winning, which Rick is actually thankful for because her high-shrieked cackling distracts Judith from Rick’s frown. And then, once they’re all done, Rick puts Judith to bed, making sure to tell her exactly what he’s going to do--that he’s going to wait for Daryl, stay up all night if he has to until he comes back, and that if she wakes and he’s not on the couch or clutched to the ceiling, that he’ll just be out on the porch. That he’s here if she needs him.

And then he does just that, stakes himself out on the wood steps in front of the door. He sits and crosses his arms around himself, hunches in like he’s cold despite the fact that it’s still a balmy eighty even after the sun has set. The irony doesn’t escape him, the fact that when he left for Hell all those years ago it was Daryl sitting on different steps, Daryl waiting up throughout the night, Daryl sitting there thinking things like _love_ and _emotion_ , probably imagining kissing him, imagining how their lips would feel pressed against one another’s, that first thrilling, magical spark.

And now look at them. Now look where they are. Rick knows what Daryl’s lips feel like. He knows how the touch of Daryl’s fingers, so delicately caring, move over his skin. He knows how his hips move up with Daryl as Daryl thrusts inside. He knows how his own self slides into Daryl like rivers forming valleys. He’ll never forget any of it. It’s like a cattle brand burned and skewered across his mind.

Which is why he has to wait here now. Which is why he has to sit on these steps with his knee jittering up and down with nerves, his boot that won’t stop tapping. Because there are only two options in front of them and Rick has been so stupid not to see it. There are only two ways this can go. _All_ or _nothing_. And how can Rick ever give his all ever again?

It’s only ten when Daryl comes soaring in, putting Rick out of his misery. Rick hears his wings first, the strong beat of them, full and wide. And then he sees Daryl as Daryl comes into land, flips himself from horizontal to vertical and lands with practiced grace, with all the beauty in the world and a painful, hard lump forms in Rick’s throat.

“Rick,” Daryl says, the word so reverently spilled out of his mouth.

Rick stands and refuses to let his arms fall to his side, refuses to meet Daryl’s gaze because then he won’t have the strength. And he has to have it. He _has to_. That’s what Daryl told him, right? That he’s strong. So he has to prove it now. “Daryl,” Rick says and then speaks over him when Daryl tries to talk. “There’s something I have to say.”

Daryl frowns. “There’s something I have to say, too.”

“Please,” Rick says, “please let me go first.” Daryl wrinkles his nose like he’s just swallowed something sour, but nods and Rick continues. “I can’t…” Rick shakes his head and waves uselessly at the air. “I can’t _do_ this anymore.” He takes a deep breath and is relieved that Daryl is silent. “I’m falling in love with you.” Rick smiles slowly, the corners of his lips both a frown and a sigh. “All over again and I can’t do that. Because I’m at my breaking point. Because if I lose again--and, Daryl, we will. We will _lose_ , don’t you see that?--I _won’t_ stay standing. I can feel what I’ll become. You know? Colder. _Harsher_. And every time I get hurt...every time this falls apart...I _risk_ it. I risk losing everything I am. I risk _becoming_ my well. And I don’t want to do that to Judy. I don’t want her to lose her parent.”

“What are you saying?” Daryl asks, his voice a tiny whisper.

“We can’t see each other anymore,” Rick tells him. “We just can’t. I can’t look at you because if I look at you, I’m going to fall for you. And when that doesn’t work--when God won’t _let_ it work because _fuck her_ \--where are we then? Where do we stand?”

“So you want me to what? Leave?”

“I don’t know,” Rick says and shakes his head. “There are other ways.”

“You want to use our magic,” Daryl clarifies, “to become invisible to each other.”

“It’s easier--”

“--it’s _harder_ \--”

“-- _and_ easier.”

Daryl sets his jaw and Rick watches the outline of it against his skin. He sees Daryl grind his teeth and then swallow, watches the Adam’s apple as it bobs. “Come with me,” Daryl says and Rick blinks.

“What?”

“Come with me. There’s something I have to show you.”

Rick furrows his brow and shakes his head. “I just said I couldn’t see you. I can’t go with you, Daryl. Anywhere.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Daryl says, “you can. Rick...you can’t just…” Daryl trails off and runs a head through his hair. He starts pacing. “You can’t just _throw it away_. Not without fighting for it. Not without giving us a _chance_. Come with me. Please? Give us one last shot. Give _me_ one last shot. If you’re falling in love with me again, don’t I deserve that? Don’t I deserve one last _chance_ to win you? To make it better? I’ve always promised I will never give up, so I’m not giving up now. Come with me.”

Daryl stops and holds out his hand to Rick, catches his eyes and refuses to let Rick look away. “Daryl,” Rick tries, but Daryl shakes his head.

“Come with me,” he pleads. “Please. And if after tonight, if after what I have to show you, you still feel the same way, then you’ll never have to see me again. Then I’ll become as invisible to you as you are to Lori. But please. Don’t let us die without a fight.”

Rick looks at Daryl’s hand, at the beautiful soft glow of his outstretched fingers. He blinks and thinks about the way Daryl feels over him, how warm their bodies are, how safe. And so he uncurls his arms from around his chest and slides his hand into Daryl’s, feather light. Daryl grips it with the force of mountains and Rick wonders if he’ll ever let go.

“Okay,” Rick says and nods. “Okay. Show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [Free by Graffit6](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VYs-ABc475A)
> 
> And a song requested from a reader for the entire story (but it TOTALLY works with this chapter)! 
> 
>  [Elephants by Rachel Yamagata](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ea4E-XYLStw)


	28. What's Remembered

“Where the hell are you going?” Rick asks, flying behind Daryl as he tries to navigate the night sky. He’s been jerking left and right, swinging his head and casting his gaze around and Rick will bet the very last fireball in the seventh circle that he’s lost.

Daryl growls and stops in mid-air so fast that Rick almost runs into him. He casts his gaze around at the world down below them and frowns. “Where the _fuck_ is Philadelphia?”

Rick snorts. “ _Philadelphia_? You’re halfway to San Francisco.”

Daryl grumbles. “Don’t fly much at night.”

“Obviously,” Rick tells him. “If I knew you were this bad at star navigation, I would have made you sit it on Judith’s lessons.” Rick grabs his arm and spins him, pointing perpendicular to where they’ve been flying. “Philadelphia is that way. What’s in Philly?”

“You’ll see,” Daryl says and starts coasting north. Rick frowns, but follows him. Ahead of him, Daryl is beating his wings fast, but shaking just a little, clearly anxious about whatever it is that he has to show Rick. Rick narrows his eyes in suspicion.

“God make you do this?” he asks. “Called you home and told you to take me somewhere?”

Daryl snorts and looks back over his shoulder at Rick, shakes his head in the moonlight. “Michonne has nothing to do with this. She didn’t call me home and she doesn’t want me doing anything in regards to you. This is all on me.”

Rick grunts, but continues to study him. They fly fast over the Earth, using their magic to speed them along quicker than any bird, any car, any plane. The woods below blur around them, little dots of city lights jumping and fading as they coast. The air is cooler up here and freer, lighter, and Rick wishes that he could let go of everything and just _enjoy_ it, enjoy flying by Daryl’s side like he was meant to be there, like he belonged.

He tries desperately hard not to believe that this is the last time.

Daryl takes him to the west of Philadelphia, out in a little town about forty-five minutes from there, a picturesque place with suburbs and little clean mowed yards and flowerbeds oh-so-perfectly clipped. He spins down to the ground and Rick follows him until they land lightly in front of a corner house.

Rick wrinkles his nose at it. It’s perfect, in every sense of the word. The house is two-storied and shallow, but cute and quaint. The siding is a pretty red and the main color of the house is light gray. There is a room with bay windows and bushes that are trimmed and mark the path up to the front door, the white welcome mat, and the little doorbell that looks worn from use. The mailbox at the front of the drive says “Appleton” in swirly letters and there’s a car parked in front of the garage--a well respectable Nissan Sentra, powder blue.

The fucking thing even has a white-picket fence and Rick wants to gag.

Daryl spins on his heel to face Rick, smiling big and wide. “ _This_ ,” Daryl says, “is the Appleton residence.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Got that from the mailbox. Why are we here?”

“The Appletons,” Daryl continues, ignoring him, “are a newly wed couple. Well, they’ve been married for a year and a half now. Their wedding was in Philly, because that’s where her parents are from. She had three bridesmaids and the wedding cake arrived orange, which was a _scandal_.” Daryl bounces on the balls of his feet. “The groom, Mr. Appleton, is from Kentucky. They met at college. She’s a speech writer, loves the Democrats. He’s a Republican, but they get by.”

Rick tilts his head and places his hands on his hips. “Daryl--”

“He works at a marketing company. He’s just got a huge raise, made the vice president of Pinnington Aromatics. She teases him all the time about how he works for a perfume company. But within the last year he’s worked there, they’ve increased their profits by 15% due to advertising and everyone knows it’s because of him.”

“ _Why_ ,” Rick whintes, “do I give a fuck?”

“Let me finish,” Daryl says with a grin. “She’s pregnant. Six months in. It’s going to be a little girl and they’re going to name her Hannah, after Mrs. Appleton’s great aunt, who she adored. Hannah’s going to grow up in this house--in a yellow nursery--with a mom who adores her, who's going to teach her how to be an advocate for the world. And a father who’s going to teach her how to uphold her values, how to be strong and quick-minded, but how to love the world, too. How to see justice in it.”

Daryl reaches for Rick, grabs his hand and pulls him forward, spins Rick around so that Rick can look at the house. A light is on in the living room, despite the fact that it’s getting closer to midnight. There’s a woman standing there, straight hair cascading down her profile. She’s round-faced and solemn looking, but there’s mirth in her eyes and she looks like she’s holding something in, like she’s trying not to laugh at the man that’s further in the house, the man Rick can’t see. She’s obviously pregnant and obviously at ease. Obviously at home. “Enid Appleton loves her husband,” Daryl tells him, his arms around Rick, his voice in his ear, “more than anything in the world. They’re the kind of couple that others hate because they’re so perfect. Because it’s so _fated_ that they be together. And her husband…” Daryl trails off and pulls Rick to him, holds him strong against his chest, puts his nose in Rick’s hair. “Her husband loves her, too. He’s happy. He says most days that he’s the happiest person in the whole world.”

And then the man in the house moves. Comes out from where he’s been hidden from the window, laughing and teasing his wife, who’s laughing back. And Rick’s knees buckle out from under him.

Daryl catches him easily, holds him in place as Rick’s heart bursts, as his nerves jitter to fly away. Because it’s Carl. It’s _Carl_. _It’s Carl_.

He’s older. Much older. He looks to be in his twenties, maybe thirties. But Rick would know him anywhere, because this is his son. He has the same sharp eyes as Rick, the same unfathomable blue. He has Rick’s jawline, and his hair--although closely cropped--belies the waves and the curls that Rick has given him. And Rick can’t speak, can barely fathom it, can barely process the man through the window with the artificial light of the living room bulb shining down on him.

Daryl tilts him to the ground and Rick follows, collapses. Daryl holds him, wraps him up in strong arms and strong wings and Rick lifts his hands to clutch Daryl’s forearm, to dig his nails in and cling to him. “How…” Rick starts, but what can he say?

But then Daryl is talking, his voice smooth and bright. “Sometimes souls don’t go to Heaven _or_ Hell,” Daryl explains. “Sometimes the soul isn’t finished on Earth. They don’t need the afterlife, they don’t need a place to rest. And so they are reborn. Given the chance they didn’t get before. Carl was born to another family, born to another woman and another man in Kentucky, but he didn’t forget. The soul never forgets the things that make it. He doesn’t know you, but he remembers you, somewhere deep in his bones. He knows what you taught him--the good of the world. Justice. He remembers you because you are a part of him, Rick. And he’s going to teach that to his little girl. He’s going to carry that with him in every step he takes.”

Rick squeezes his eyes shut, but that doesn’t stop it. He collapses against Daryl’s chest and lets it all out in great, broken gasps. Daryl holds him, pulls him in and makes a cocoon for them with his wings, the grace of their silver, strength in their softness. “I’m going to show you,” Daryl tells him while Rick fucking sobs in his arms, “I’m going to show you how it should have been. I’m going to take it all away from you, Rick. Every bad thing that you’ve ever felt. I’m going to take it. I swore to you I was going to make it better. And I _am_.”

And then, just like that, they’re gone. They blink out. And Rick is sitting alone in a prison cell, cold gray walls around him, his human knees tucked to his chest, his hands covering his eyes, shaking, desperate and bereft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A requested song for the entire fic by s0urw0lf! [Real Life by the Weekend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UTYCj8NuM7E)
> 
> Also, just an FYI for you guys, this is what Skari told me in her beta comments for this chapter: "This scene brought to you by Kleenex, Incorporated. When you start to sob your eyes out, catch them in a Kleenex brand tissue. Available at your local Wal-Mart." So there's that.... :D


	29. As It Should Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys are interested, please join the [Rickyl Writer's Group](http://rickylwritersgroup.tumblr.com/)! We've been working hard on getting a Tumblr site up and running and we are now live! And you don't just have to be a writer to join! You can be a reader/commenter/artist/other fanwork maker. We are going to have challenges, a beta-match up system, and you can suggest and vote on recommendations of fanworks! If you have fanworks, you get a member page, too! And we do Rickyl Chats on Fridays if you are interested in chatting. 
> 
> If you have questions, let me or skarlatha know! We'd be happy to answer them!

Rick feels the scene around him for what it is. It’s exactly like what he showed Daryl--a simulation of something, a vision of a thing that had happened or could have happened. He knows within his bones that he is not _back_ in the cell, that these gray walls surrounding him are not _the_ gray walls of his past--just a reflection of walls that used to exist. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier.

“Please,” Rick’s lips motion the same as they did all those years ago, silent little prayers cast down to the standard-issue prison bed, “show me what to do. Give me a _sign_.” He swallows, wills his words to be _heard_ , wills someone to catch them, someone to come reaching down. “How do I get past this? How do I live without my son?” Faces, burned into his memory. The smack of the Python, bodies cold in the dirt.

“ _Please_ ,” he says again, but this time the word leaves his lips. This time it is _sound_ , it is _noise_ , it is _truth_.

The room goes warm. And then cool, a breeze flitting through, drifting between the cracks in Rick’s fingers, cooling them like water heals burns, hands pressed under the sink, moved beneath running water. Rick blinks and the light seeps in through the tiny spaces, golden and comforting, then silver and smooth. His body reacts instantaneously, his nerves dying down, his heart finding a rhythm that feels older than the Earth, older than humanity, than the length of his own soul.

He lowers his hands, eyes wide, and looks. Sitting crosslegged on the end of the bed is a man and his mind fragments into two distinct realities--this is Daryl, his mind says. This is the Daryl who I love. And then, this is someone I don’t know. This is someone new, but I trust him, I trust him with my life.

Daryl is radiant--his aura out and visible, surrounding them in the small space. Where it touches, it glows. The walls are no longer concrete, but slate and lunar, beautiful and captivating. The halo spins slowly on his head, tilted toward Rick like this is its gravity, like this is its purpose. Daryl’s eyes are the colors of oceans forming--wild and current and free. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t frown, but he holds himself simple and true and lifts both hands, palms forward, casts them to Rick in supplication.

“I heard you,” Daryl tells him and when he speaks, the world shifts like earthquakes rising, like the chorus of volcanoes. And Rick _knows_. He knows, he knows, he _knows_. He knows the world is full of possibilities, he knows he has a choice and that there is always a choice, he knows there is something better out there, something grand, something pure. And he knows that he can touch it, he knows he can _reach it_.

“I came for you,” Daryl tells him and lifts his hands, palms still out. “I heard you and I came, Rick. I feel it, what’s inside of you. And it’s _okay_. It’s _alright_.” The words leave Daryl’s mouth like salve, like the cool slide of ice slipping over the branches of trees, covering them, holding them.

Rick opens his mouth to tell Daryl the terrible things he’s done, to _confess_ , but Daryl shakes his head and Rick falls into silence. “I know,” Daryl tells him, “it doesn’t have to be said. It doesn’t have to be confessed to me, Rick. Who am I? I am nothing against your heart. And you have confessed, haven’t you? You have, here, in this cell. You know and God knows. And nothing else matters.”

“I’m so alone,” Rick whispers to him.

“You never are,” Daryl answers. “You never are, because I am always with you. Like She is always with you.”

Rick closes his eyes and leans toward Daryl, basks in the radiance that surrounds him, in the solace, comfort, in the _awe_ he feels in this moment. In the unbounded and free love that flows from Daryl toward him--religious love, love between fellow beings, but something deeper, too, something wild and untamed like foxes in the brush, like crashing thunder and the rip of tornados. In that moment, they are no longer themselves. They are no longer _Rick_ and then _Daryl_ , but something more. Something swirling and melted together, _greater_ than the sole parts of themselves, powerful on a level that staggers Rick, that leaves him prone and still in the dust.

Rick lifts his hands, slides them slowly through the air and despite his closed eyes, despite how he can’t see, he knows Daryl’s slide through the air as well and then they are together, their palms gripping, their skin touching like flowers grown beside each other that tangle into one and Rick knows he will never be powerless again. He knows he will never doubt again. He knows he will always love with a fire hotter than Hell, with a softness that towers over Heaven, with everything in his being and in Daryl’s being and he knows they are _unstoppable_ , that there is nothing left that could ever tear them apart.

Nothing, but…

Rick feels it. Deep within the pit of his stomach, where it likes to sit. In the leather of his wings, in the curve of his horns, the whip of his spade. His well. It burns like an angry pit of snakes, seethes, and covers Rick like it always does with a heavy fog. Like a chain, it pulls him down and his hands start shaking within Daryl’s. It won’t let him go and Rick knows it--knows that even if it’s logical, even if there are so many thousands of reasons why to let go of the pain, why to let go of the grief and the anger and the sadness, the deflecting, the brooding, the years spent wishing and hoping, that he can’t let go. That it won’t _let him_. That he’s impossible to heal.

“I could never,” Daryl tells him, “change what happened. I can never make the loss of your son _better_. I can’t save the Greenes. I can’t fix Maggie and I can’t give you back forty years. The pain, Rick, it never goes away. For any of us, it never does. You just make room for it. You just pick yourself up and you move on.”

“I can’t,” Rick says, opening his eyes and shaking. “I can’t. I _try_ and I _can’t_. Please, Daryl. _Help me_.”

“I will,” Daryl says and squeezes his hands, turns them so that their fingers slide together, so that they are no longer _the angel_ and his _charge_ , but two souls that have found each other, two souls desperately in love. “I’m going to take it from you.”

“...what?”

“Your well,” Daryl tells him and sits up straighter, power and _determination_ lifting his spine.

Rick feels it like a flood, cold and stark on his skin. Daryl closes his eyes and Rick feels Daryl’s being start to _pull_ at his body. Rick knows, on some form of innate level, that this is _wrong_. That this isn’t what angels do and he tells Daryl to stop, tries to pull back what Daryl is taking out of him, but it’s too late. It starts and ends quickly, like the snapping of fingers, like a thunder clap. Rick is aware of two things at once--one, that the fog is gone, but that his well is still there. He feels it like he always does, can tap into it and find those awful feelings of guilt and grief that make him who he is, that have formed and shaped the demon. But instead of that angry burning mess, it’s smoothed over, like sandpaper ground down, like stone chipped into statue.

And two, Daryl is crumbling. And the world is fading to black.

***

The perfectly manicured and cut lawn is the first thing that Rick sees when he opens his eyes and he gasps and takes in his surroundings quickly, cataloguing the fence, the bushes, the word “Appleton” on the mailbox in swirled letters. Carl is still in the window with Enid, still laughing, and Rick’s cheeks are wet, his body shaking.

He spins around to Daryl, fallen behind him, who is looking up at him with a smile on his face, but little else to be excited about. His wings are black, like they were that day in the closet, charred and fragile. His skin has taken on a gray pallor, his eyes dulled. And his halo--his beautiful, gold halo--is lying in the grass beside him, black and dead. “ _Daryl_ ,” Rick hisses and clutches at him, “ _what did you do?_ ”

“I took it from you,” Daryl tells him and smiles again. “So that you could be okay.”

“ _My well_ ,” Rick hisses, his voice high and panicked, “ _you took my well_?” Daryl nods slowly, without much energy. “ _Why_?”

“Because,” Daryl says and lifts his hand, places it against Rick’s cheek, “you couldn’t go on with it there. You couldn’t fight free of how it held you. It kept you from me. It kept you from _healing_.”

“ _You fucking idiot_ ,” Rick shrieks, “look what it’s done to you!”

“It’s worth it,” Daryl tells him, “it’s all worth it for you.”

“ _No_ ,” Rick says, determination boiling in his veins, “it’s _not_.” But even as he says it, he knows Daryl is right. He knows the reason he could never heal, the reason he could never trust, never _love_ again is because of that deep angry void, the thing that always kept him from moving on. And now, with it gone, he already feels freer, already feels like he can do anything, be anything, _love_ anything he damn well pleases. But it wasn’t worth it. It could never be worth it if Daryl is the price. “I have to get you home,” Rick says and pulls, stands up and jerks Daryl to his feet. He moves slowly and his wings fall around him uselessly. It becomes clear very early to Rick that he can’t fly and even clearer, still, that he can barely walk.

So Rick does the best he can. He picks up the halo from the ground, useless and broken, and then takes Daryl into his arms, sweeps him up, and even though Rick’s wings are not as big as Daryl’s, not as powerful, he manages. He gets them into the air and then he gets them _home_.

Daryl lays limp in his arms during Rick’s flight, still awake with his head curled into his neck. He puts his nose into Rick’s skin and sighs happily and Rick’s heart _breaks_ that here he is, having been such a _bitch_ to Daryl and what does Daryl do in his own time of need? Fucking nuzzle him. Cuddle him. Desire to _be_ with him and what has Rick done? What has Rick _done_ to his beautiful, graceful angel?

But then they are home and there’s no time for guilt. There’s only the intense, burning desire to _fix this_. Rick collapses on the lawn and drags Daryl into the guestroom, lays him down on the soft comforter and sprints through the hall, bursting into Merle’s room and slapping him awake.

Merle wakes with a jolt and starts yelling, grabbing his face where Rick slapped him, but Rick is already talking a mile a minute and too fast for him to get a word in edgewise. “--and Daryl is hurt, so you are going to _go in there and heal him, Merle_. Hurry!”

Rick grabs Merle’s arm, digs his nails in and pulls Merle out of bed, shoves him down the hall. Merle stumbles in front of him and Rick pushes him to go faster and they tumble in a gigantic mess until they arrive at the guestroom. Rick sets his jaw at how Daryl is laying there, crumbled on the bed and not on the pristine white cloud he likes to create. And in this light he looks even _worse_ \--the stark fluorescence making him seem faded, dull, and sucked dry. When Merle sees him, he takes his breath in despite himself and involuntarily moves backwards, away from Daryl. “What did you _do_?” Merle asks.

Daryl swings his head to the side and looks at both of them, shrugs without feeling. “I took his well.”

“You took…” Merle swallows and casts his eyes over Daryl’s charcoal wings, at the halo that Rick has thrown down by his side. “You took his _well_?”

“Fix him,” Rick growls, because he’s had enough of this. It doesn’t matter what Daryl did or didn’t do, what he should or shouldn’t have done. All that matters is that Daryl becomes healed. All that matters is that he’s okay.

But Merle says the worst thing he possibly can, the one sentence that Rick doesn’t want to hear. “I can’t.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Rick hisses. “You’re an angel. You _heal things_.”

“Not this.”

“ _Why not?_ ”

“Because _this_ ,” Merle says and points to Daryl’s broken body, “is unnatural. _This_ is a direct statement against God. Angels do not _keep_ pain. We don’t _harbor_ it. We fix and we mend and we heal and make better. We do not _take worse_. This...this cannot be undone.”

Rick gathers his breath to come at Merle, lifts his wings and prepares to fucking _fight_ him if he has to, but then Daryl’s voice rings in, so crystal clear and soft, so beckoning and loving. “Rick.”

Rick deflates. He sighs and casts his glance over to Daryl, who’s holding out his hand for him, who’s watching him with all the focus and intent in the world. And Rick can’t deny him this. Can’t deny him anything. So he throws Merle out of the room and locks the door, slides over to Daryl and falls into his arms, falls against his chest, and holds him, crushes him in his embrace and says, quiet against Daryl’s skin, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” Daryl whispers to him, reaches up and runs his hand over Rick’s head, digs his tired fingers into his hair and runs them through . Rick’s eyes close involuntarily. “I chose this,” Daryl says as he kisses his scalp. “I want you to be okay and...and this was the way to do it. So I did.”

“Fuck you,” Rick tells him, but there’s no fight in him anymore. “There had to be another way.”

“There wasn’t.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Rick says and sighs, “I know.” He swallows. “But why now? Why not yesterday? Why not six years ago? Why not _when you met me_?”

“Carl,” Daryl answers easily and starts running the tips of his fingers down Rick’s spine, caressing smooth and even like he’s probably wanted to do for years. “If I did this without you seeing that he was okay, it wouldn’t have worked and you know it. You needed to both have the well taken away so you could let go of the pain and see him so it was possible for you to move on. And I’ve been _trying_ for _six years_ to find him. Before...I didn’t even know his _name_. Not his full name, anyway. And not where you had lived. Not who he was. And then you showed me...and then I knew. But I couldn’t leave you. Not until today. And I couldn’t find him on Earth on my own. I tried, but the damned libraries were never helpful. But Heaven keeps a library of every soul...and so I went there today. I went and I found him and then I went and saw him, found out all about his life. And then came to show you, as quick as I could. Because remember what I said? Remember what I said last night, about how I had to be brave like you? How I had to be strong like you? This was it, Rick. This was me being brave for you. Because now you’re okay.” Daryl sighs happily and kisses Rick’s head, as strong as his weak lips will allow. “ _You are okay_.”

“But _you’re_ not,” Rick says and sits up, stares down at him and his charred wings. “You’re not okay, so how could I be okay?”

“I’ll manage,” Daryl tells him. “I’m not dead. It won’t get worse.”

“This is worse enough. Your magic is gone.”

“But I have you. That _is_ enough.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Rick tells him and stands up, crosses his arms across his chest and glares at nothing in particular, just the world and how cruel it is. “Bullshit, bullshit, _bullshit_. No.”

“Rick--”

“No.”

“You can’t stop this.”

“The fuck I can’t,” Rick tells him. “ _Watch me_.”

“Rick--”

But it’s Rick’s turn, now. It’s Rick’s turn to surge forward, to put his hands on Daryl’s face and to come in like a freight train, to kiss him with everything he has. He wills Daryl to understand the fire boiling within him, to grasp the deep and unabiding love he feels in that moment. His lips press into Daryl’s and Daryl _responds_ , curves his body up toward Rick’s like the circumference of circles, like the clicking of tectonic plates and the spinning of the Earth. And when they break apart, Rick knows that it won’t be for long, that he’ll always find his way right back home, right back here. “You never gave up,” Rick tells him, whispers it against his skin when they pull apart, “and so _I’m_ not giving up. Because this was never supposed to happen. Any of it. We were never supposed to like each other, but we did. We weren’t supposed to fall in love, but we _did_. We weren’t supposed to make peace with each other, to raise Judy together, to live alongside one another in harmony, but we _did_. Daryl, we _did_. And I wasn’t supposed to fall for you again. You weren’t supposed to make it better and I wasn’t supposed to be able to love you like I do. But I do. Daryl, I _do_. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, and that _wasn’t supposed to happen._ So I will be fucking _damned_ if I let _this_ happen. I don’t care what I have to do. I don’t care if I have to bend Heaven and Hell and Earth all at once. I am going to fix this. I am going to heal you. And nothing can stop me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG!
> 
> [Let Your Heart Hold Fast by Fort Atlantic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBqWtdMpies)
> 
> And a couple of reader recommendations! 
> 
> [Still Worth Fighting For by My Darkest Day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mz_9N3Ggz38)
> 
> [I Found by Amber Run](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yj6V_a1-EUA)


	30. Making Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I forgot to put a plug in for this! [SilverRaindemon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRaindemon/pseuds/SilverRaindemon) is translating Spade into [Russian](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5191556/chapters/11962706)! Check it out!

Rick damn well knows that he’s going to fix this. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll find the right solution, grasp it and do whatever’s necessary to make it happen, complete whatever task he needs to complete to make Daryl better again, give him back his magic, and see that beautiful halo twinkling once more. He’s just not sure...how.

The obvious avenues aren’t going to work. This isn’t a situation in which time will heal Daryl’s broken body. And it’s not like Merle’s angel magic will cure him--despite the fact that Rick has dragged him back into the room and made him hold his hands over Daryl and just _try_ on at least four separate occasions. And it’s also not like there’s an angel hospital or a halo brace or something that’s going to hold everything in its right and true position.

So all in all, Rick’s been striking out pretty thoroughly. He’s thought about going to Hell, about traipsing downstairs and asking the big dog for help, but he knows that Carol will a) laugh in his face or b) ask him why he’s trying to mess up a good thing or c) both. And besides, with the fog gone, Rick is starting to see something for the first time in his entire demon life...that Carol is an _utter_ bitch. Here he is, having wailed and bemoaned and blamed God and Daryl for all his problems, when Carol was the one who swept in and made it worse. When Carol was the one who gave him the well. And no, Rick doesn’t regret it. He never could. The well _is_ him and he _is_ the well and it’s true what he said to Daryl that day, true then and true now--he doesn’t want to be an angel. He never could.

But fuck if she didn’t make everything harder. Fuck if she’s not part of what’s tearing Rick and Daryl apart. So no, he’s not going to bow down to her level. No, he’s not going to ask for her help. She wouldn’t anyway, the damn fucker.

So what’s he left to do, when all his options are spent?

He focuses at first on the simple things. He makes Daryl comfortable, puts a heater in the room since Daryl starts shivering and begins to get goosebumps even if the bastard won’t admit he’s cold. He brings him water and piles up lots of blankets and stays with him throughout the whole night. He arranges Daryl’s wings in the most comfortable pattern since Daryl, with a heavy frown, tells Rick that he can’t even feel them anymore. And Rick sets his halo on the nightstand, so fragile that Rick’s worried it’s going to disintegrate into ash in his hand.

And, most importantly, Rick holds him. He slides in the blankets with Daryl and ignores how the covers and the heater are reminding him of the temperatures of Hell. Because why would that matter when Daryl snuggles into it, slots their bodies together so perfectly, and clings with all the strength he’s got left in him? Rick pulls Daryl into his chest and lets his head rest there, lets Daryl hear the staccato beat of his heart. He runs his fingers over Daryl’s skin, draws little patterns onto the flesh, and Daryl hums his happiness. They don’t sleep much, but they rest and even though Daryl is weak, it’s glorious and it’s soft and it’s safe and it’s forever.

Rick is so engrossed in the moment, though, that he loses track of time. Somewhere around dawn, Daryl finally does drift off, finally sleeps, and Rick doesn’t move a muscle to disturb him. In sleep, Daryl’s skin begins to get the smallest bit better, the gray fading away just slightly and Rick has hopes that Daryl’s weak body will recover if only a minute amount. The morning slips away slowly and Rick keeps on holding on, but then around nine in the morning, they’re disturbed.

Judith creaks the door open and peeks her head in with a frown. She sees Rick and Daryl there and she blinks and opens her mouth, but Rick is quick to put a finger to his lips to shush her. She nods and stands in the doorway awkwardly until Rick beckons her in. She walks inside and shuts the door, then approaches the bed, her eyes wide as she scans over Daryl’s charred wings and the paleness of his skin. “What happened?” she asks Rick, reaching for him and grabbing his arm.

“He did something he wasn’t supposed to,” Rick whispers back.

“Is he okay?” Judith asks, her brown eyes filled with worry.

“He will be,” Rick tells her and then Daryl stirs at their voices, blinks his eyes open and then slowly smiles at Judith. “Hey, Little Light,” he tells her.

“Hey, Dad,” Judith says and Rick’s heart gives a wild jump, filing with warmth.

Daryl blinks rapidly. “Da--” But he doesn’t get the question out before Judith is crawling over Rick’s body and flopping down between them like she should have been doing for years now. Her head hits the pillow and she snuggles in and then looks up. “You love each other again?” she asks.

Rick slides his gaze to Daryl and catches his eyes. They both smile and it’s Rick who says, smooth and bright, “Yeah, Judy. We love each other.”

“Okay,” Judith says and then reaches up and presses her fingers into Daryl’s wings. “So, we’ll just solve for C and fix you up and we’ll be good.”

 _If only it was that easy_ , Rick thinks.

***

The day is thrown off schedule, which makes Rick a little nervous and, to be frank, grumpy, but they get by. He makes Judith oatmeal and she eats it in bed with Daryl, asks him a gaggle of questions like _does it hurt?_ and _how did they get burned?_ and _where’s your halo? Can I touch it?_ until Rick swats at her and tells her to leave Daryl alone. And then Rick sets her up in the corner to work on her math and forces Daryl to lay down and close his eyes until he goes to sleep again. The color is coming slowly back to his skin and he at least can manage basic tasks like standing, but the more he sleeps the better. Rick knows that a good night's rest isn't going to cure the big ticket things--the things like magic and flying--but his first priority is to get Daryl _functional_.

So once Daryl is good and asleep, Rick takes Judith and leaves the room. They finish the math section in her workbook and then Rick lets her play around in the yard with Dumbass for awhile while Merle attempts to “even out the tan on his back.”

About halfway through their allotted break session, Maggie shuffles through the door, rubbing at her eyes that look heavy-lidded from sleep. “...fuck is wrong with you?” she asks Rick and then gets stifled in a yawn.

“What do you mean?” Rick asks.

Maggie grunts. “Didn’t wake me up.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Not your keeper.”

“You _were_ my keeper for the past six damn years. What’s new now?”

Rick sighs and looks out over the yard, where Judith is failing to teach Dumbass how to roll over. “Daryl’s hurt,” he says.

Maggie glances his way and arches an eyebrow. “What, you finally get off your high horse and knock him in the eye or something?”

“No,” Rick says with a shake of his head. “He...he brought me somewhere last night.”

“ _Brought_ you…?”

“Flew me to Philly.”

“Philadelphia?”

“Yeah.” Rick says, letting his breath come out in a relieved sigh. “He showed me...he showed me Carl, Maggie. Carl. My son. My _living_ son.”

Maggie’s expression instantly changes. Her eyes snap from bored and half-awake to narrowed and focused, the slack in her mouth tightens and dips into a frown, and her spine, loose from sleep, stiffens and rises. “That boy is _dead_ ,” she tells Rick.

“No,” Rick says, sliding a glance her way. “He’s _reborn_.”

“Fuck he’s not.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Fucking hell, he’s _not_ ,” Maggie says. “Fucking _bullshit_ \--”

“And Daryl,” Rick continues, pushing forward, willing her to understand the extent of last night. “He took it from me. My well. He...he brought me back to that moment and he _showed_ me what it could have been like and he took the pain away. He took that awful fog away and now I can _see_ like I’m new again--”

“Fuck,” Maggie says and reaches out, punches Rick in the shoulder so hard that he stumbles. She jumps into the air and starts beating her wings and glares at him, “ _you_.” Rick blinks in the face of her fury. Maggie wrinkles her nose and lets her voice become whiny and emasculating. “Oh, look at little Richard! He’s finally got what he wants! With a little boyfriend who came out to save him.” Maggie snorts. “Well, screw you in your jolly ass. Look at what you’ve become. Just _look at it_. You sitting there glowing like one of those fucking angel cocksucks. The next thing I know you’re going to be damn well _singing_ about the _Good Lord_ and how _righteous_ she is and you're going to be talking about fucking _cloud bingo_ or whatever the hell those assholes do for fun and you’ll be flapping your damn little _wings_ straight up to goddamn soft and fucking light _Heaven_ and _fuck you, Rick_. _Fuck you for getting what you wanted all along_.”

And with that, Maggie spins and crashes through the door into the house. Rick flinches back and listens to her bang through the hallway and knock things over, flying around like a little poltergeist until he hears the familiar slam of the garage door, picks up on the faint sound of Maggie and her punching bag.

But what did he expect? Maggie is his ball and chain, his constant reminder, the shadow that lurks around the corner that reminds him of just what he is. And so what did he think was going to happen when he told her except for this? Except for his past thrown back in this face like a cold bucket of ice water? He’s not acting very demon-like right now, he thinks to himself. He’s not spinning around causing trouble or taking out all of his deep seated fear that he’ll never be able to fix Daryl on the stupid little things like the tablecloth and the phone wire. No, he’s sitting here like a damn angel, watching Judy play and Maggie is right. The next thing he knows, he’ll probably be soaring up to Heaven with the gospel on his lips, and…

And Heaven.

Rick blinks. _Heaven_. Oh shit, _Heaven_. He’s been such a dumbass. Of _course_ nothing on Earth will fix Daryl and of _course_ nothing in Hell can. But in _Heaven_...in _Heaven_ where there is God, where there is healing, where there is _grace_ that could potentially replace Daryl’s halo and make him whole again.. _.fuck yes_ , Rick thinks. This is it. This is the solution. He’ll crash his demon self through their gates and come in like a whirlwind, show them what Hell can really bring. And he’ll find his solution there. Heaven is just a hop, skip, and a jump away and when Rick goes there...when he goes and comes back...then Daryl can be good again. Then _they_ can be good again--just an angel and a demon as they’ve always been meant to be.

So all he has to do is go.

***

Rick gets his affairs in order. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take to get to Heaven and to refill Daryl’s halo with his grace, but he figures that both times that Daryl has left, it’s taken at least a day, so he should prepare for more just to be on the safe side. He cooks breakfasts and lunches for three days and stacks them up in the freezer because he’s going to be damned if he leaves his little monster without food and who the hell knows if Noah’s any good at cooking.

He figures Maggie and Merle can take care of each other and if they wring each other’s necks while he’s gone, oh well. But he does make sure that Daryl is comfortable, that he has everything he needs within reach. Daryl is still asleep, which is good. Rick figures that Daryl could see what he was doing with one narrowed-eyed glance and then they’d have to _talk_ about it, have to _discuss_ and Rick doesn’t want to discuss. Rick wants to act.

So when the house is ready to go, he pulls Judith aside and kneels down before her, gets on his knees and grabs both of her hands in his. “Judy,” he says, “I need you to listen to me, okay? I need you to listen to me _harder_ than you’ve _ever_ listened.” Judith frowns, but nods, her eyes shrewd as they take him in. “I have to go to Heaven. I have to go and see if there’s anything up there that can fix Daryl. You understand that, right?”

Judith nods firmly. “Of course, Punch. You’ll fix him?”

“Yes,” Rick says without any doubt, “but I have to go talk to God first. And so I’m going to leave the house for awhile and, this is the part where I need you to really understand, I’m leaving you to take care of Daryl, okay? I don’t trust anyone else, Judith. _Anyone else_. And he needs someone right now. It breaks my heart to leave him, but I have to. And so I need you to watch him and I need you to be there for him. I need you to be brave and strong and I need you to be more of an adult than Merle or Maggie or anyone and I know you can do it.” Rick squeezes her hands. “I _trust_ you to do it. You and no one else.”

Judith swallows and squeezes his hands back. “I’ll do that,” she tells him. “I can take care of him. You don’t have to worry.”

Rick scoffs. “I will always _worry_. But at least this way, I know that the two people I care about most in the world have each other.” Rick puts his hand on the side of her head and leans forward, places his lips to her hairline. “Okay,” he says with a shaky breath. “I’m going to Heaven.”


	31. Asking for Help

Rick really hates clouds. They bunch and stick and cling to his body like little fluffy leeches and he keeps having to shake his head to dislodge them and flap his wings strong enough to create wind motion that kicks them away. So far, he’s been up here for two hours and he’s hasn’t found squat--just piles upon piles of clouds on this incredibly overcast day and where the fuck is Heaven?

Rick sighs heavily as he breaks through the top layer of a cloud bunch and looks around. What was it Daryl said? That to get to Heaven you just have to want it? Just have to will it? Well, Rick is getting pretty tired of flying around the stupid sky and so he’s willing it, dammit. But then again, he’s a demon and all his bones are screeching at him that this is wrong, that he doesn’t want to do this. That when he arrives in Heaven, some damn angel is going to spy him and set him alight with the good grace of God that will most likely either turn him into a statue or just obliterate him and neither way sounds like a particular batch of fun. He’s flying into the enemy territory and he knows it.

But Daryl. But _Daryl_. Daryl who is down on Earth, sick and alone. Daryl who fried himself like a french fry for Rick and Rick has to do this. This is the only way. So he takes a deep breath into himself and steels his demon courage. He pulls out the halo from where he’s been holding it by his side and stares at the poor thing--all black and empty. But it’s a reminder of Daryl, it’s a reminder of what Daryl _did_. For Rick. And so Rick is going to do _this_ for _him_ , because they deserve to be together. And Rick wills it. Heaven. Heaven. _Heaven_.

He looks around him, finds the biggest stack of clouds he can find, and goes in.

***

It’s kind of like losing all sense of gravity and being tossed and turned about in a dryer. Rick feels his stomach sink, feels vertigo setting in and then up is down and down is up and direction makes no sense anymore and then he is deposited with a rather loud thump on a cloud that is way too soft for anything the sky had ever made.

He grumbles and stands, dusts himself off and checks the halo to find it is still in one piece. He casts his gaze about and sees everything as he expected it to be--great golden gates sitting in front of him, closed, but somehow looking beckoning. A gold brick path leading the way. Clouds all around that both support and bend under foot.

And a grumpy-ass looking black guy glaring Rick down.

Rick sticks his nose in the air and approaches the gates. “My name is Rick,” he says with pompous flare and a puff of his chest. “And I am going in those gates whether you like it or not, Mr…”

“Morgan,” the angel says with another hefty stare.

“ _Morgan_ ,” Rick spits. “So stand aside.”

Rick bristles himself and waits for the argument, for the booming _no_ and the fight that is sure to happen. He probably has a sword hidden somewhere, Rick thinks. He looks like a sword guy. Rick fluffs his wings out to look big and arches his horns in warning, but all Morgan says is…“Sure.”

Rick blinks. “ _Sure_?”

“God is waiting for you,” Morgan tells him with a self-satisfied smirk. “Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Morgan reaches for the gate and pulls, the damn thing opening with a little dinging sigh that makes Rick want to punch it. He glares at everything around him, but in the end, what is he going to do but go inside? So he lifts his nose into the air and walks through, grabs the gate with his tail on the way past and slams it. He is unhealthily satisfied by the creaking smack it makes upon closure and he grins to himself, hoping he’s left a dent in it.

And then...Rick is inside Heaven. He squeaks at the realization and brings his wings into himself, tries to look small. He never in a million years thought he would be here at all and he certainly never thought he would be here by himself without Daryl standing proudly by his side, curling Rick under his wing to protect him. Rick lets himself imagine it for a second, Daryl tall and imposing on the gold-laced streets, Rick tucked into his shoulder, burying his nose in Daryl’s neck while Daryl’s feathers laid so softly and comfortingly across his back. _Fuck_. Rick wishes he wasn’t doing this alone. But he has to. For Daryl. And he will never back down, not until Daryl is safe and healthy in his arms.

So Rick steels himself and stomps down the golden path to the center where all roads lead. He knows Michonne is there. After all, she’s a self-centered fuck.

***

Rick passes angel after angel upon the way and each one gives him a more surprised and confused stare than the last. There are a damn good bit of whispers and several even clutch their hands to their chests in what Rick is pretty damn sure is theatrics and _drama queen tendencies_ , but he refuses to engage them. He’s not here for them. He’s here for the boss, the big cheese, the ultimate of ultimates. He’s here to give God a good talking to and he’s not going to stop until he finds her.

Of course it would help if he knew what she looked like. He’s never been here, never met her. She’s always been this figure in his life, something to hate, to despise--a faceless, voidless being that professes to care and doesn’t. But he figures it’s something akin to a nightmare or hating someone. You know it when you feel it. He’ll know her when he sees her.

And he does. The gold road he’s on leads, like all others, to the middle where a little garden is blooming. Silver flowers sing into the breeze that flits softly through the grounds and the clouds curl and weave into something like grass underneath Rick’s feet. Trees sprout, with white trunks and little gold leaves that flutter so softly in the air they look impossibly unreal. A brook feeds through the garden and the start of it ripples from a cloud like a tiny waterfall.

Part of the waterfall pours into a fountain and it’s here that Rick finds Michonne. She’s standing to the side of it, petting a little pigeon she’s holding in her hand. Around the structure other pigeons flock, pecking at the seed on the ground or bathing in the fountain.

Michonne doesn’t look at Rick when he enters, but she smiles at the bird in her hand and Rick hates her a little bit more. “Welcome, Richard. You should have come here a long time ago.”

Rick bites back the _fuck yous_ and the _let me tell you somethings_ on his tongue. How he would love to tell her what he thinks of her, would love to say how all her assumptions and the assumptions of her damn stupid flock sitting on its ass up here in the fluffy clouds is dead wrong. But that isn’t what he’s here for. He’s here for Daryl.

So instead he holds out the halo in the palm of his hands, lifts it up for her to see. “Will you...will you fix this? Please give him his grace back. He deserves so much…”

Michonne still won’t look at him, but she sets the bird down on the lip of the fountain. “You came all this way. All the way to Heaven. That must not be easy for a demon.”

Rick resists curling his lip, but continues. “I’ve never seen anyone love so much before. If anyone deserves to be forgiven it’s Daryl.”

“You willed it. Willed your way to Heaven.”

“Please help him.”

“Found us in the clouds.”

“Please.”

“Passed through the gatekeeper.”

“ _Please_.”

“Walked the golden streets.”

“ _Look at me_ ,” Rick growls, hisses it out in seething anger. He bares his teeth and clutches the halo to him and his tail whips the cloud grass angrily away from his body.

And Michonne does look, snaps her gaze Rick’s way. Her eyes are coal, deep and dark and endless, warm and comforting, bidding him home. But home is not here and never will be. Home is back on Earth, in the arms of an angel that Rick never should have left. Who he should have learned to forgive six years ago. And Rick, for the first time in his whole life, realizes something desperately important.

He never was and never will be God’s. And because he will never be hers, she holds no power over him. Standing here before her with the leather on his back and the thinness of his tail, he is more than he could ever have been otherwise. More human than he ever was without wings. More a person that he could ever be up here in Heaven. He is outside her, without her. Will never be part of her flock. And, his mind sings with a renewed sense of purpose, he is not Carol’s either. Something has changed. Something in the way Daryl has loved him and that here, now, Rick is loving him back. And neither one of them, not God and not the devil, could ever make Rick do _anything_ , could ever control him ever again.

Michonne stops smiling, stops acting with precisely measured beats and the trickle of the fountain no longer sings with a kind of perfection that is grating on Rick’s nerves. “There,” Michonne says, “that is you. And this is me. There is no need to hide who we are, Rick.”

Rick sets his jaw and swallows hard. “You do not want to see who I really am.”

Michonne tilts her head. “Don’t I? Don’t I always want to see the truth? I would love to see you--”

“Well, you don’t fucking deserve it,” Rick snaps. “And I didn’t come here for _me_. I came here for him and that is _all_ I care about. Now. Will you fix it?” He holds out the halo again, its burned and ash-colored surface contrasting with everything that surrounds them.

Michonne looks at it and shakes her head. “I do not ‘fix’ these things. Grace cannot be given with just a wave of the hand. Grace can be made only by the selfless act of healing. By the natural removal of pain. And that is nothing that I can do here.”

“How then?” Rick asks. “How do I make him whole?”

Michonne smiles just the slightest bit, just a ghost of a motion across her face. “My poor Rick,” she says and Rick trembles in his desire to strike her, “you can’t.” Her eyes fill with pity, with a compassion that Rick wants to take and shove down her throat.

But Rick is not pity. Rick is not glassy compassion. And Rick is _not_ and will _never be_ a man defeated. Because all he is now, every fiber of his being and every tremble of his wings, every twitch of his tail and every beat that his heart cries, is Daryl’s.

So he stalks up to God, meets her inch-for-inch and finds himself taller than her, _towering_. She doesn’t flinch and if she is surprised, she doesn’t show it, but Rick doesn’t care. Rick doesn’t give a fuck about her, but he needs her to know. “He is the best thing that has ever come out of here. He is your shining star. There is nothing in this world that could be any more brilliant than he is and you are standing here telling me that you _can’t_ heal him. That you, who profess _love_ and _compassion_ and _healing_ will not _love_ him. Will not have _compassion_ for him. Will not _heal_ him. You are telling me that you, _God_ , have no power with which to end his suffering. Well. I’ll tell you what I think of that. Because there are only two ways that I can see that making sense. The first way is that you don’t care about him, that you are _willing_ him to suffer. And I am telling you right now, I refuse to believe in a God that lets something as pure as Daryl suffer. And the second? The second is that you aren’t quite as powerful as you seem to be. And that you really can’t fix him. And let me tell you, _Michonne_ , if that is the case than I am going to blow your fucking socks off. Because I am going to fix him. _Me_. Some way, some how. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. I will make him better. _Me_. And that makes me more powerful than you. And it makes me more fucking _compassionate_. So thanks for all your help, but I’ll be going now.”

Rick flips on the red sole of his boots and stalks away, lets the leather of his wings become grand in their exit, lets his tail whip with the awe he feels in that moment--awe for what he and Daryl are, for what he felt in that prison cell when Daryl showed him how it could be, their hands combined, their selves _greater_ than anything Rick has ever known. He holds on to that, lets it build within his heart and burst.

“You will not be the same,” Michonne calls after him. “If you do this, you will never be the same.”

Rick cracks his jaw and turns back to her, stares her down until the pits in her eyes retreat from him. “ _Good_ ,” he says. “I have been the same man for far too long. Let it fill me up. Let his love for me and mine for him change us both. I don’t care how much I have to be remade. I don’t care what I have to give to have him--I will give all of me. Over and over again. If that means that he is to be safe.”

Michonne tries to speak, but Rick turns from her. Her words are meaningless. Her _existence_ is meaningless. She is nothing but one of them, another angel clutching at their heart, trying to tell him where to be, who to be, how to act. And fuck them. Fuck her. Fuck _all_ of them. Rick has no boundaries now. He is an open, raging fire and he will catch through Heaven like the clouds are brush. Watch him burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [Supremacy by Muse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avM_UsVo0IA)
> 
> (Yes, it's a Rick & God song, but not at all happy. Lol!)


	32. Independent Volition

Rick stalks away from Michonne and her little quaint garden and gets about half a mile and three scared angels away before he finds a corner off to the side of the road where he’ll be shielded by the low-hanging golden leaves of a great grand tree. He collapses against the trunk with his back to it and throws up one knee, hangs his arm over it while the other leg sprawls out crooked in front of him.

From his peripheral view he can see his wing and he stretches it out to stare at the leather. What is he doing? What _is_ he, except for a piddly little demon who just told God off like a toddler crying to their parent. What does he think he’s going to do? What plan does he have in place for gaining Daryl’s grace back?

Except he meant it. When he said it. The words left his lips with the whole backing of the universe behind him, the weight of powerful stars as they spin in the heavens and the feeling that all space will bend to him to make this happen. In that moment, there wasn’t even such a word as failure, wasn’t any doubt in his bones that this was fate. But now, _now_ , away from the rage and Michonne’s unending pit-filled eyes, he feels weak. The hand dangling from his knee is shaking and his wings tremble with how alone he feels. How isolated, here in a white wonderworld of softness and betrayal.

He lifts his hand unconsciously to his nose and then drops it. He doesn’t do that anymore, he tells himself firmly. And he doesn’t feel sorry for himself. How could he, when Daryl is counting on him?

So instead of moping, instead of backing down, Rick pulls the halo from his side and sits it in the grass beside him, stares at it. It stares back, black and gritty like it’s made of water-packed sand instead of the healthy, smooth metal it used to be. It looks so sad and so dead, like nothing in the world can bring it back to how it was. But Rick narrows his eyes, drinks it in, and thinks to himself, in small little bursts.

What does he know? He knows that Daryl is sick. He knows he is sick because his grace is gone. He knows his grace is gone because of Rick--no, don’t think that, Rick tells himself. Think forward, not back. He knows his grace is gone. He knows to fix Daryl he has to fix his grace. He knows God will not fix it. He knows God said that grace is made from healing. From unselfish healing. From natural healing.

And isn’t that what Merle said, too? Angels heal pain. They resolve it. And that pumps their grace like Energizer batteries. So if Rick needs grace...shouldn’t he just fill the halo with healing? But he doesn’t think just handing it to Merle while he heals someone is going to do the trick. After all, wouldn’t that just funnel Merle’s grace instead of Daryl’s? And Rick’s 100% sure if that was an option, Merle would have mentioned it. He loves Daryl like his family. He wouldn’t let him suffer if there was an option.

So no other angel can fill it. And presumably, if Michonne wasn’t lying through her too-white teeth, God can’t either. Because she’d just power her own grace and she can go fuck herself with that one. Rick hopes her aura breaks around her like the ground opening up in an earthquake, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s not his present concern.

His present concern is that Daryl needs to refill his own halo and that no other angel can do it for him. Except he’s too weak, Rick thinks, to do anything of the such. So no one in Heaven can help. And no one in Hell, either. Or Earth. So Daryl is screwed. Except…

Rick opens his mind, deletes all the boundaries that are prepackaged into it, things like angels are good and demons are bad and little girls can’t do geometry. He expands his thoughts until they float out and fit the whole of all creation and _beyond_ it. He deletes the sentence _God is all_. He deletes the sentence _Demons serve the devil_. He deletes _Angels_ _heal_ and _Demons hurt_ and _You can’t_.

And he finds that in his mind’s eyes where there used to be only up and down, right and left, north-south-east-west, he moves in a different direction. He cuts through everything that has ever been known, moves himself outside of God’s influence, until a sentence forms so smoothly in his mind that it must be something like a law he has created out of the ether: _I will heal. And I will bring his grace back._

As if in answer, the halo resting in the grass gives a tiny little ding and for a moment, it shines. It’s nothing strong, nothing big at all really, just a wisp of the pitch black ash into something more like charcoal gray, but it’s a start. Rick grabs it, snatches it up and brings it forward so he can examine it more thoroughly. He keeps thinking. So he will heal. He will fill this thing with grace. But _who_ will he heal? That’s the next question.

He has to heal naturally. Unselfishly. He thinks of what Daryl told him about his job before, flying to people in need. Rick tries to imagine himself doing that, his leather wings beating through the air toward any individual he finds crying and desperate on the sidewalks. He wonders if he could be that healing force--if he could care enough to give them what they needed, fill them with enough hope to keep going on. It’s unlikely. He’s spent forty years becoming hard to the problems of others, preferring laughter over serious discussion, and the switch back would take quite awhile, if it was possible.

And it doesn’t seem possible, does it? How would he find them? Daryl at least had an angel spidey sense keying him into grief. Rick has nothing and the thought of wandering the streets of San Francisco or Berlin or Tokyo looking for someone to heal just seems...wrong. It seems like there must be another solution, another hurt right under his nose that needs to be fixed.

He blinks. There is. He _does_ already know someone, a creature surrounded by the largest amount of pain he could think to define. Pain that he created, pain that he brought into existence, molded and forged into a demon full of the rage of the world, tainted and twisted and broken. And wouldn’t it be right for Rick to heal Maggie, for them to be remade together, walk away from the awful fog and shadows that have held them back all this time?

And Rick owes it her to give her this. And beyond that, she deserves it, probably more than _he_ ever has. Rick loves her like family, because she _is_ his family. His only family aside from Judith and Daryl, and his longest known companion. And the pain in her eyes is reflective, her rage contagious, her grief devastatingly real. She shouldn’t have to hold onto it any longer, shouldn’t have to keep retwisting and breaking herself upon the ugly shores of time and the impossibility of relief.

So this is what he will do. He will heal her. He picks up the halo again and stares at it, watches as it floats from charcoal back into black. And really, there is only one way to heal Maggie Greene.

He stands, loops the halo through his belt and stalks out onto the road again, determined. An angel is passing, a man with dark hair and open eyes, but Rick doesn’t give a shit what he looks like. He grabs him, fists his hand in the man’s shirt and drags until he stumbles into a half-kneeling position and Rick can glare straight into his face. “What’s your name?” Rick asks.

“A-aron,” the angel stutters.

“Fine, Aaron. My name is Rick.” Rick flares his wings out. “Do you know who I am?” Aaron shakes his head, but has the good sense to look terrified. “You know Daryl?” A small nod. “Well I’m the demon that was sent to Earth as his equal, so you listen to me and you listen good. I am going to ask you one question. _One_. And you are going to answer it quick and honest and then I’ll let you go. Now. Where is the library?”

“The...library?”

“Aaron,” Rick growls.

Aaron points, straight ahead to the largest and tallest building, stretching out high against the sky. “You mean the Grand Library?”

Rick sighs, suddenly wishing Heaven had a “You are Here” map so he didn’t have to deal with dicks with wings. He releases Aaron and ignores him, starts stomping his way forward to the imposing white brick building.

***

Rick busts through the doors which, granted, hurts a little, his wings burning with the force of his aerial entry, but whatever. He wants to make an entrance. He flies quickly over the heads of a group of angels pouring over papers at a table, swirling his wings in a vortex that disturbs both their parchments and their hair, and then makes a beeline for the first shelf of books he sees. He lands with a flourish and grabs the first spine, rips it from the shelf and stares at the words printed on the cover: Aaburson, Aaaable. Who the fuck has a name like Aaaable Aaburson? Shit. Rick stares down the aisle and cranes his neck. Sure enough, the little tabs in the bookshelf to tell him where to go are still saying “AA” for as long as he can see. He’s a long way off from Greene, Hershel.

He lifts his wings and is about to soar into the air when a squeaky voice behind him says, “Hey. You’re not supposed to be in here.”

Rick turns around and glares, but finds that he is staring down into the brown eyes of a wide-stanced, determined, wings-quivering little angel. Rick grunts. “Like it here,” he says with a snap.

“This is the library,” she informs him, “of Heaven.”

“And who are you?”

“The librarian.” She pauses and darts her eyes away from him for a second before looking back. “Tara.”

“Well, _Tara_ ,” Rick says with a roll and click of his tongue, “I’m going to stay here until I find what I need. So you have two choices. You chase me around the books while I bat at you like a fly or you help me find what I’m looking for and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Tara gives him an up-and-down glance, but her fists are shaking. “I could take you on,” she says and mostly keeps the stumbling out of her voice.

Rick raises an eyebrow. “Ever met a demon?”

“Well...no.”

“Want to see what a demon can do?”

“Ah...no?”

“Good girl.” Rick slaps Aaaable Aaburson into her hands. “I need to find Hershel Greene.”

***

Rick is bored as fuck and his wings hurt after flying through what he’s pretty sure is the distance from Moscow to Sydney, but they finally, _finally_ make it to the Greene room--because there are enough Greenes to have their own room--and start cross-referencing by date of birth and location. It turns out there aren’t quite as many Hershels as he was afraid of and, to be honest, he likes that the little Tara angel is with him. It would take him days to sort through this mess, but she manages to find _Greene, Hershel [Georgia, U.S.A]: B.D: 1905/04/16_ in a matter of minutes, beaming cheerfully at him and handing it over.

Rick opens it and flips the pages to the back, trying to look both sinister and like he knows what the fuck he’s doing. Tara hovers next to him and flutters her feathery wings that remind Rick more of sparrow’s wings than they do of Daryl’s great, broad, eagle ones. Luckily for Rick, though, the information he’s looking for _is_ in the back section. _Current Residence: Heaven, White Fields, Winglebury_. Rick gags. Of course Heaven would have _suburbs_. And of course they would be named _stupid shit like Winglebury_.

Rick slams the book shut and Tara squeaks and puts a hand to her heart. Rick wonders if heart conditions are contagious in Heaven, but no time for that. He sticks his nose in the air. “Alright. I also need Annette, Beth, Shawn, Otis Gresham and Patricia Gresham.”

Tara blinks rapidly. “That’s...quite a few people.”

“And you’re wasting time,” he informs her. "And you better be happy it's Gresham and not Anderson and I'm sending you back to the As again."

She has the audacity to glower at him, but then she spins and goes back to the stacks. Rick wonders if she’s ever worked so hard in her librarian life, but soon he has the other five books stacked in his hands along with the first one. He drops to a standing position and opens each one to its back pages and checks. Just as he suspected: _Winglebury, Winglebury, Winglebury, Winglebury, Winglebury, Pleasant Hill_ \--

What? Rick blinks and picks up the book that’s different, reads the page thoroughly. _Current Residence: Earth, Georgia, Pleasant Hill Care Facility_. Rick’s mouth falls open and he shuts the thing, stares at the cover: _Patricia Gresham_. No, he thinks. No, this can’t be right. He flips through the pages rapidly--born in Georgia in 1929, highest level of education high school, married to Otis Gresham, notable family and close friends Hershel Greene, Annette Greene...fuck.

Rick slides to the floor into a sitting position and stares at the other five books still open, all shining with the names of Heaven’s fucking chicest neighborhood. But Patricia… “She’s still alive?” he asks Tara.

Tara furrows her brow, but flops down next to him and looks. “Sounds like it, yes.”

“How could she be…” Rick swallows, remembers the broken woman as he had last seen her, out of her mind with grief and mute at that point, her eyes glossed over so thoroughly no emotion would ever shine through them again. He stares at the words on the page and then further down, to the exact county, town, and address of the facility that she’s now in. _Care Facility_. She would be, what? Eighty something now? Eighty and dead, or as close to dead as she’d ever be before she came up here, to a place like this. And alone. All her family gone.

How had Rick never known? How had _Maggie_ never known? Forty years with her there...forty years with her _alive_. Rick can’t process it. He can’t even think it through.

So he shuts her book gently and gathers the rest up as well, hands them to Tara and nods at her. Tara takes them into her chest and nods back, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Is that...what you needed?”

“Yes,” Rick tells her and purses his lips. “Where is Winglebury?”

Tara blinks. “Oh, over in White Fields.”

Rick sighs heavily and crosses his arms. “And where is _White Fields_?”

Tara laughs, but stops abruptly when she sees Rick isn’t joking. “Oh, you _are_ new,” she says and sits the books down on a nearby table. “Here. Let me show you.”

***

897 Hillside Drive, Winglebury looks like a piece of shit. Well, that’s not quite accurate. The walls glow with a soft silvery hue and there’s a plant in the windowsill that is blossoming beautiful greens, golds and pinks, and it has an honest to God picket fence that shoots up out of the ground like it’s somehow smiling. Which makes it just about disgustingly perfect enough for Rick to call it a dumpheap.

He frowns at the beautiful mesh screen door which is the only thing separating him from the family that lives inside and tries to take his frown to a new, incredible level. Beside him, Tara is twitching her wings like ants twitch antennae, casting her gaze to the door, to Rick, and back again. “Um, is this not what you wanted?” she asks.

Rick scoffs at her and frowns at the ground, where a gold stone path leads up to the door. “These people are here because of me,” he tells her.

“Oh!” she says with way too much excitement. “Were you like...a priest or something?”

Rick glares at her. “No, I was not a _priest_. CAROL.” She flinches back at the name of the devil, but Rick continues. “These people died because of me. That’s what I meant.”

“Oh,” she says and it’s much more morose this time, much more heavy and on the level he expects it to be. She spends a minute darting her eyes around the house before she chirps, “Well, that’s okay.”

Rick blinks at her.

She shrugs. “I’ve met lots of people who are new to Heaven. A lot of them think there are people that died because of them or that someone down there thinks they killed _them_. It never really turns out to be true.”

Rick snorts and shakes his head, baffled at how he’s telling librarian-angel this. “No, but I actually _killed_ them. Gun to the head.”

Tara wrinkles her eyes at him. “All of them?”

“Just two,” Rick says with a sigh. “But two’s enough.”

He expects a big grand speech or at least a gasp of horror at his confession, but instead, Tara just shrugs her sloping shoulders and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “It’s okay. Things like that tend to be meaningless up here. After a certain amount of time.”

“I don’t know how you can get over getting shot in the head,” he informs her.

“But that’s kind of the thing in Heaven, isn’t it? Forgiveness for all.”

“Even when they don’t ask for it?”

Tara laughs. “ _Especially_ when they don’t ask for it.”

Rick raises an eyebrow at her, but ends up shrugging in agreement. Because really, he’s not on the Greene doorstep for himself and he’s really not there for any of them. He’s here for the only thing they have in common. Maggie. And he’s going to be damned if he lets a little thing like two Python bullets stand in his way.

So he stomps up to the screen door and knocks loudly against the wood blocking in the mesh, waits for someone to answer. Behind him he hears a flutter of wings as Tara leaves and then suddenly there he is. Alone and waiting for Hershel or Annette to open the door and then, most probably, slam it in his face.

In the end, though, it’s not either of them. It’s not even a Greene. It’s Otis, his body still large and his face still one of honesty. Otis blinks and furrows his brow, as if trying to place Rick as a faroff acquaintance. When the light finally does sound in his mind, his expression changes, but it doesn’t become a hardened one as Rick might think it would. No, it softens into some form of friendly recognition, like Rick is a high school friend or an old college roommate. “Hello,” Otis says with too big of a smile on his face, “we’ve been waiting a long time for you. Come on in.”

Rick frowns, but has nothing to say, so he follows Otis into the house, tries to still his tail from thwapping backwards and forwards in the hallway they walk down. “It’s been so long,” Otis tells him, “that I had forgotten what you looked like. See you’re a demon? We had kind of heard. Guess that day messes a man up, huh?”

Otis curves himself into the living room and calls out that they have a guest. They emerge from the woodwork and Rick tries not to feel like an elk in the center of a pack of wolves. Annette and Shawn sit at a couch off to the side, but Rick watches their narrowed eyes and nervous, jittering legs. Otis moves back, blocks the hallway out, and Beth comes forward, puts herself in the hallway at the end of the living room. And, as Rick expected, it’s Hershel who talks first, emerging from a room off to the right. “Well, Richard,” he says, wiping his hands on a rag held firmly between his hands, “long time coming.”

Rick puts his hands on his hips, unconsciously slides his right one a little lower, as if there still is a holster there, as if his breast still has a badge. “What you think you’re going to be getting here?” Rick asks and sets his jaw, swallows at the way his voice drags into a southern drawl forty years later.

“Figure you’d like forgiveness,” Hershel says, dipping his head forward so he can stare out of the tops of his eyes in Rick’s direction.

Rick shakes his head and calms his beating heart, the chattering in his veins like angry mosquitoes. “Forgiveness is between you and your own self,” Rick says with more of a snap than he means.

“Hmm,” Hershel tells him. “I see you’re no different. I was hoping you were a better man than your past actions.”

“Don’t judge me off of them.” Rick glances briefly around him, to the circle they have made with him as their direct center point, before focusing his gaze back on Hershel. “I didn’t come here for you to tell me what I did was wrong.” His fingers twitch on his belt line. “Or that even good men can do bad things. That it was pressure or stress or whatever the hell you’ve told yourself. And I also didn’t come here for you to tell me I’m a monster, that I’m something born out of the darkness that was your particular test and you’ve gotten over me. So either way I see it, how you dealt with that day is your own doing just like how I’ve dealt with it is mine. I’m not here for anything you have to say to me and I don’t figure I’ll ever come back to take the floor. Because I’m so far from different from that man back then that I can’t even speak to him. And I also suspect you are, too. So we can just all drop the pretenses and get to why I walked in here.”

Hershel blinks, but asks easily, “And why did you?”

“Because your daughter is my best friend in this whole world,” Rick answers without missing a beat, “and she deserves so much more than anything that my sorry ass or your sorry ass has done to her.”

“Maggie?” Beth asks, coming out from where she’s been silently watching. “You know Maggie?”

“I’ve known her for longer now than you have,” Rick says, speaking the truth of the matter.

Beth looks to Hershel and the rest of the family shifts awkwardly. Rick stares at the wall between Annette’s shoulder and Shawn’s bicep because he can’t look at any of them without remembering each of their funerals in vivid detail. The way Maggie stood like stone, the way she screamed, the way she walked like she carried her cement burden in the heels of her shoes. They broke her. Each and every one. Rick pulled the thread of her life loose and they kept running with it, kept unraveling until nothing was left. They’ve divided up and paid out responsibility of her and they each now need to pay in, multiply back until everything has been made anew.

Hershel turns to him, scans Rick’s body and thins his own lips. “Are you sorry for what you’ve done?” he asks.

Rick nods the truth, but then cocks his hip and swings his head into a tilt. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Every day,” Hershel tells him, narrow eyes unblinking.

“Then I’ll bring her here,” Rick says. “And I’ll show you to her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song recommendation from a reader! 
> 
> [Heaven's on Fire by Kiss](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZjevnnkA20)


	33. What Ifs

When Rick returns home, it’s the middle of the night and he flies in as softly and quietly as he can. As much as it pains him to do so, he heads to the garage first and ignores the front door and the walkway inside to where Daryl is probably sleeping, warm from the blankets and the heater, safe and secure with Judith just a couple of rooms away. Rick wants desperately to go inside, to kiss him softly awake and see his beautiful eyes fall open, melt into Rick like sugar into tea. He wants to crawl up next to him, curl around him, be with him, hold him and help him get through the night. But he can’t do any of that. Because if he went in now to wake up Daryl, he’s pretty sure all he would get is a frown and a hard voice telling him not to go back. Which is ironic when you think about it.

In fact, Rick is pretty damn well sure that if Daryl had the strength to stand on his own two legs, he would be outside waiting on the porch as is their standard operation for when one of them is gone. Rick hates to think about that, that they have a _pattern_ now. And it’s him who’s leaving, him who’s flying away. But he _has_ to, despite what he’s sure would be Daryl’s words to him--that Rick doesn’t owe Daryl anything, that Daryl is just fine. But Rick does owe him. _Oh_ , he does. And he’s not fine. So even if there was nothing for Rick to give back, it wouldn’t stop him from this, from making Daryl better again, making him as free and light as any Heaven generated cloud.

So Rick slinks in, cool as a snake, and tiptoes his way through the garage to where Maggie is hanging in the corner among an old lawn mower and an air-conditioner that gave out last summer. Rick grabs the corner of one of her wings and shakes it. The first reaction he gets is a big fat nothing, so he tries again, earns a grumble, and then with a third tug, a hiss and a flap of her wings. “ _Maggie_ ,” he whispers urgently, “ _wake up_.”

Maggie whips her wings away from her face and glares at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “Oh,” she says. “It’s the little bastard back from wherever the fuck he decided to adjourn to.”

“Heaven,” Rick tells her. “Now get off the ceiling so I can talk to you.”

Maggie raises an eyebrow, but rolls her eyes and flips up, lands on the floor and then begins to stretch with such a great, long roll of her spine that it forces Rick to take three steps back to accommodate her. “ _Heaven_ ,” she spits when she’s done. “What’s in _Heaven_?”

“Stupid things,” Rick answers easily, “but you’re coming back with me.”

Maggie grinds to a halt, one of her wings still stretched to its maximum capacity, the other turned half into her body. “What.”

It’s so impressively not a question that Rick has to nod in acknowledgement of it. “Yes,” he says. “Heaven.”

Maggie scoffs at him and turns, starts stalking to the door of the garage. “You’ve flipped your shit in the last two days. Flying with an angel to Philly. Thinking you saw your son. Falling in _love_ all over again. Going to _Heaven_.”

“Hey,” Rick says and grabs her arm, pulls her to a stop. “Just because I’m changing doesn’t mean it’s bad. Not for me and not for you. And _besides_ , there are people that you probably want to see in Heaven.”

Maggie flicks her eyes over to him and narrows them. “I don’t want to see anyone in Heaven.”

“Even--”

“ _Even_ ,” Maggie answers easily. “It’s not like I haven’t known. It’s pretty fucking obvious where someone like Hershel Greene would end up. But that doesn’t mean I want to go there. Now. Get your hand off of me. I’m going for a nice evening flight to get the bad taste of marshmallow demon out of my mouth.”

Maggie jerks her arm away and heads for the door, but before she gets there, Rick shuts it with more force than he probably should have given that it echoes throughout the garage. “You want to know what I think?” Rick asks her.

“No,” Maggie says with a snort. “I don’t like marshmallows and I don’t think they’re entitled to opinions.” When Rick doesn’t react, she turns her head into a near horizontal tilt. “Are you not getting it? I’m calling you a marsh--”

“Yes, I know I’m a marshmallow,” Rick growls out and then glares at her. “You, Ms. Maggie, are scared.”

Maggie blinks rapidly and then straightens her neck, lets her mouth fall open in disbelief. “ _Scared_?”

“Of Heaven and of talking to your family.”

“I don’t _need_ to talk to any of them. I’m not their daughter, sister, or friend, anymore.”

Rick shrugs and crosses his arms, leans his back against the garage door so that there’s no escape from him. “That’s true,” he tells her. “You’re not Maggie Greene anymore than I’m Rick Grimes, but that doesn’t matter. Because you’re still holding onto them. And you’re afraid of Heaven. But it’s alright. I’ll go up there with you.”

“I don’t need a dime-store, one in a dozen, raised-up demon to hold my hand.”

“Okay,” Rick says, a challenge sparkling in his eyes. “Then I expect you’ll do it yourself. I can teach you how to get there.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Mmm hmmm.”

“A monster.”

“Mmm hmmm.”

“A sissy.”

“Mmm hmmm.”

“ _Fine_ ,” she finally growls out with a smash of her tail into the concrete and a glare of her narrowed and hate-filled eyes. “I’ll go up there to humor you if you're going to be such a pest about it. But I’m telling you, I don’t need to see them.”

Rick shrugs and pushes himself from the wall. “But if you don’t go, you’ll always wonder what if you do.”

And Maggie, with a huff of her breath and a tick of her shoulder, belies that Rick, for all his faults, is 100% right.

***

Heaven doesn’t really look that different at night versus in the day, just maybe a bit more shiny, like someone had come along and stuck those glow-in-the-dark star stickers on every possible surface. If it was tinged green, Rick would be worried.

But lucky for him, it’s not. And also lucky for him, they can apparently fly straight over the gates without any worry and he and Maggie land on the gold streets in record time, Maggie still bitching about the transportation system they had to use to get there. She dusts herself off and glares at everything around her, but the streets are far less trafficked at night and the few angels who are there steer clear of them.

Rick starts making his way to White Fields and Maggie falls into step beside him, their legs syncing easily until it is step after step after heavy step, their knees V-ing at the same time, heels to the concrete in the same rhythm. Already it feels easier, having Maggie there with him. Heaven is no place for a demon alone and here, with her, he feels centered. It feels familiar to be like this, to weave in and out of each other’s motions like they have for the past forty years. Because he knows Maggie has his back and he has Maggie’s. And now, _finally_ now, they might be about to take the hate out of their love/hate relationship and replace it with pure familial affection. Or at least that’s what Rick is hoping.

Maggie must be sensing the changes, too, though, because she asks as they walk, “Are you turning?”

Rick slows his pace. “Turning?”

“Into a fucking angel,” Maggie snaps off.

Rick slows further and then eventually stops, turns to her. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Maggie shrugs and looks petulant. She glares daggers at a gold-needled pine tree. “Don’t know. Are you? Are you betraying us?”

“Who’s us?”

“Me and Carol.”

“Oh, _fuck_ Carol,” Rick growls, his voice deep and animalistic like a tiger being hunted. “I don’t give a flying shit about Carol. Carol doesn’t control me anymore and I’ll be damned if I let her back in.”

“So _that’s_ how it is now, huh? Came up to Heaven and kissed the feet of the great Michonne? What, you fuck her, too? Get yourself a little _God_ on?”

“Michonne,” Rick spits like a rattler, “can fuck herself, too. I’m not up here for anyone but my family. For me. For Daryl. And for you. That’s all I care about. The two of you and Merle and Judith and _fuck_ all the others. I don’t give a shit about them. And _no_. I thought you were smart enough to know that angel is the very fucking _last_ thing I would ever want to be.”

“Well, I thought you were smart enough not to be tempted by them.”

“I am! You think I’m going to change? You think I’m going to give up this?” Rick whips his tail up in front of him and waves it for her. “You think I’ll ever be able to let go of the pits? Of the lava rivers and the waterfalls and how it feels when you break free of Hell into the cool air of the Earth? Do you think for one second that I’m out here _seeking_ feathers? Because I’m not. Maggie, I’m not.”

“Then what the hell are we doing here? Cause from where I’m standing it looks like you damn well want to _heal_ me like Daryl got his shiny all over you.”

Rick meets her glare for glare. “I’m not healed,” he tells her.

She scoffs. “Seem to be pretty jolly these days to me.”

“But not fully,” Rick admits. “I never could be. Maggie…” Rick sighs. “That farm. That fucking farm. And those fucking graves...they knit us together more than maybe we ever wanted to be. How could I ever be okay knowing you’re not?”

“What if I don’t want to be?” she asks and takes a step back from him. “What if I like the way I am?”

“I like the way I am, too. But what I’m telling you is that there’s another _choice_. Okay? There’s a choice between what we used to be and what we are now. I can’t go back. You can’t go back. And we can’t turn, either. Not away from what’s true to us. But fuck it all if I don’t think there’s another solution. A way to be _me the demon_ and to be _okay_ at the same time. That’s what I’m aiming for. That’s what we have to do.”

“And talking to them,” Maggie waves angrily in the direction they’ve been headed, “is going to help?”

“Isn’t it a start?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Then tell them you have nothing to say.”

“Why?”

“Because they’ve been waiting for you.”

Maggie scoffs and turns, stares ahead of them to where the buildings are breaking into a residential section.

“And _you_ ,” Rick finishes, “have been waiting for them, too. So stop dicking around and pick up your heels.”

“You’re a goddamn fucknut,” Maggie says, but starts stomping down the gold streets.

***

It’s a mirror of before. Rick stands in front of the mesh screen door, still open and frustratingly inviting, but instead of an angel beside him it’s Maggie this time. She stares forward, wide-eyed and lock-jawed and Rick can only wonder if that’s how he was earlier before he stepped forward to see them. Maggie turns herself easily into her human shape, brings her fingers up to settle against her lips. Her eyes turn to the ground instead of the house and Rick lets her have her introspection. He changes, too, to be like her. To follow her. They stand beside each other in their dark black outlined by the silver of Heaven and Rick notes the heavy eyeliner around her eyes, the darkness of her colored pursed lips and the heaviness of the combat boots that she has always loved. She looks mean, brittle and rough. But soft, too. Rick wonders if she has changed to be more like her old human self or less like it. Either way, he thinks. He asks quietly if she wants him to stay back. She says no. They do this together.

And so they do. Their left feet hit the first step and they rise and then right and the second, left and the third and they are at the mesh. Maggie knocks and they wait. Same as before, it is Otis who answers, but this time he, too, has no words to speak, only lets them inside. Maggie goes first and Rick follows, shuts the door after him. They walk down the hall and the others come from inside the house again, but this time there’s no call from Otis, no central reason why they all gather. They just do and Rick wonders if they feel it all thick in the air the same as him.

Everyone forms a circle, with Rick, this time, in the hallway out. Maggie stands in the center, stares around all of them. It’s Annette who breaks the standoff, comes forward and wraps her in a hug. “ _Maggie_ ,” she breathes and pulls her in. Maggie stands stiffly through it, but allows her. When Annette is done, Maggie takes a step back, keeps her eyes darting between all of them, but her mouth thinly closed.

“Maggie,” Hershel says and smiles. “We have waited so long for you. We knew you would eventually come. I knew there was still good within you. Not even the devil could take it all out.”

Maggie blinks at him and keeps staring, keeps shifting her gaze.

“You can stay with us, now!” Beth chirps up. “We have a room all ready for you. Do you want me to show you?”

Maggie shakes her head.

“Hey,” Shawn says, coming forward and placing a hand on her shoulder, “are you alright?”

Maggie shrugs it off with the force of a tsunami and turns from him, nearly smacks her body into his with the force of it. She stomps back to the hallway, keen on retreat, but Rick steps up in front of her easy, catches her shoulders and keeps her there. They talk, heads bent together, Maggie faced toward the screen door, Rick to the Greenes.

“Don’t walk away,” Rick whispers to her. “Get through this. Get it done. Close it, _shut it_ like the door to a tomb. Finish it.”

“I can’t even look at them.”

“Then don’t look. Just speak.”

“I can’t speak.”

“Then find your voice.”

“They don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Does it matter?”

“What will this serve? What will it--”

But Hershel's voice cuts through, raspy and southern, dipped in honey and with the heftiness of the air after rain. “Maggie, he doesn’t have to control you anymore. You’re here with us. There are other paths.”

And that does it. Maggie whips her head around and Rick can see the rage cascade over her like oil dripping into every pore. “ _Control me_?” she hisses.

Hershel stands taller. “I can’t imagine what he must have put you through. Whatever he said to convince you to become this. But it’s not who you are. I know it isn’t. You’re my daughter. You’re a Greene. And we have a place for you here. We forgive you.”

“ _Forgive me?_ ” Maggie hisses again, her eyes dark like snakes, her head pushed forward and hunting like lions. “You _forgive me_?” She steps forward, approaches all of them, slowly and powerfully. Rick can practically feel her aura growing, feel her well spilling out from the corners of her eyes, the insides of her ears, the nailbeds of her fingers. When she speaks, it is low and dangerous, soft and commanding. “What is there to _forgive_? What do you think I have done so wrong to _forgive_? Becoming a demon?” Maggie laughs, a sharp and high screech. “Best decision I _ever_ made. And don’t you dare blame Rick. Don’t you dare put any of this on him. It’s not his fault.”

Hershel softens his eyes, tries to beckon to her, calm her with the simple motions of his hands. “How can that be true? After what he did?”

“You only know a _moment_ , Daddy,” she says. “Only a moment of him. You have only seen the barest scratch of his surface. And I, _I_... _I!_ ,” she screams, “ _I_ have known forty years of him. And more than that, too. I know more things about him than I _ever_ did about you. About any of you. And how dare you stand there and belittle my choices. How dare you attack my family.” Hershel opens his mouth, but it’s too late. Maggie is unleashed, her chains broken and her voice free, raging with the power of the oceans as they formed under the moon. “And he is my family. He _is_. Because he was there. And you _weren’t_.”

“Maggie,” Annette tries from the side, comes forward with her hand held out in peace. “Whatever he’s said to you, whatever he’s done--”

“Oh, _fuck you_ ,” Maggie growls and all the Greenes flinch at her language. “You want to know how I became what I am? You want to know how I chose _this_?” She ripples, rolls and seethes and her wings boil out of her back, her tail forms with thick darkness, and her horns shine in the light of the living room. “I was a good girl. Wasn’t I? A _good girl_. And then I watched Otis and Annette die. And I was still a _good girl_. And then I watched my sister die. And I was still a _good girl_. And my daddy and God, was it hard on me, but I was still a _good girl_. And then I watched my brother die and then I looked around me and I was alone. Alone. _Alone_. And then I _wasn’t_ a good girl. Because you know what being a _good girl_ got me, Daddy? Annette? You know what a _good girl_ does?”

She lifts her finger, points hard in Beth’s direction and her voices rises into shrieking damnation. “A _good girl_ stays up with her sister all throughout the night. All throughout every night in the dead hot of summer. A _good girl_ begs her sister. And a _good girl_ goes into her room and finds her, picks up the pieces of glass from her flesh so that her daddy won’t have to see how stupid his daughter was, how _selfish_ , how _childish_. And a _good girl_ ,” she points at Hershel, “drives her daddy from the bar every night while she watches him toss back scotch after whiskey. A _good girl_ stands by him while he throws his guts up in the alley and a _good girl_ brings him in the back door so his son won’t have to see, pulls the sheet over his head when he dies so his family won’t have to look at his jaundiced face, yellowed and ugly and _dead_ because he was too _stupid_ to get up from a bottle. AND, and, _oh_ ,” Maggie shakes her head and moves her finger, “a _good girl_ dumps the E down the toilet. A _good girl_ drives her brother to the hospital and lies about what he’s smoking or snorting or shooting or drinking this time. A _good girl_ works three jobs to pay for rehab. A _good girl_ picks him up when he runs from it. And a _good girl_ …” She drops her hands and stands in the living room, the center point of the entire house and the silver walls that seem to shrink from her. “A good girl,” she whispers, “lays her family in the ground. One at a time. Until there’s no one left. Until they’ve all abandoned her because they were too busy chasing highs to open their minds and see what was around them. So you know, Daddy, why I became a bad girl? It was because I stood on a hill and I looked at five gravestones laid out beside each other like dominos and I realized that there was only one thing I had left--the only thing that I would ever have left, for ever and for always.” Maggie touches her heart. “My anger.”

She blinks and the room falls into silence. Beth, in the corner, has slid down the wall from where she was standing and is trying to quiet her tears. Annette refuses to look up from the carpet and Shawn has his hand over his eyes, rubbing at them constantly. Hershel keeps looking at Maggie, keeps staring, and Rick can’t read him, but doesn’t see condescension in his eyes anymore, doesn’t see pride. Otis, behind him, shifts awkwardly.

“I used to think,” Maggie says, “that we had a good family. And when they put Rick in that cop car, I thought he was the devil. But now...I’ve punished him. For forty years. And he started this whole mess, kicked it off with a shout. And he deserved to be punished, but not like what I’ve been giving him. Not like this. Because I have poured all of my anger and all of my fury and all of my resentment and my disappointment and my sadness and my grief and my rage into him. And what does he do? He brings me here. Because he knows I need to let all of this go so I can be okay again. He does this for _me_ , even though I came kicking and screaming. He stands by _me_ even though I have told him my only job is to hurt him. He’s always been there. Longer than any of you fucks. So don’t try to tell me what he has and hasn’t done. What he’s said and hasn’t said. And don’t try to tell me, either, what I am. What I carry in my body. You don’t know me. I’m not who you're waiting for. That girl is gone. She died when you did.”

“Maggie--” Hershel tries, but she holds up her hand in warning.

“Don’t speak. There is nothing you have to say. I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want your apologies and I don’t want your pity. You keep all of it to yourself because it’s over and it’s done with. Nothing is going to change it and there’s no moving forward for me and you.” She takes a deep breath into her lungs. “And I have to get back to my family now. They’re waiting for me.”

She turns back to the door and to Rick. They stare at one another for a moment, and then Rick shakes himself out into demon, steps out of the way so she can walk out. He follows her and it is a long time before they speak, a long time before there is anything but the synchronized hit of their soles against the road.


	34. Stories and Armor

They end up under a silver willow tree, the chunks of leaves swaying in the soft breezes of Heaven. Maggie sits beside the trunk, plucking bark and destroying it while Rick sits a bit away, swirling Daryl’s halo between his hands from where he’s removed it from its place at his belt. “So why now?” Maggie asks after nearly forty-five minutes of silence.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’d you get the gumption to drag me to Heaven now?”

Rick stares at the halo and thinks about lying, but he never really could with Maggie. He sighs heavily. “Michonne couldn’t give Daryl his grace back. She said the only way to get grace is through selfless healing.”

Maggie snorts. “Angel magic,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “but I’m trying to do it.”

Maggie stops ripping her nails into the bark and narrows her eyes at him. “You’re trying to do angel magic? You’re trying to heal... _me_?” Rick shrugs and stares at the black ring in his hands. “You brought me here to fix your boyfriend?”

“No,” Rick says and inhales sharply, “but that’s why I thought of it. And once I thought of it...I couldn’t just leave you hanging out there in the void. I was distracted. By Daryl and my own damn problems, but when I thought of it...when I thought of _you_ , I knew I had to help. So this is me helping.”

Maggie keeps studying him and then slowly goes back to the bark. She digs her thumb into a crease line and pulls, rips a chunk off. “Don’t know if me yelling at a bunch of idiots was healing.”

“Well, did you say everything you had to say to everyone you needed to say it to?”

Maggie shrugs. “Guess so. Figure that they’ll update Patricia on my rant when she gets back from wherever she is.”

Rick’s blood freezes, turns to stone in his veins quicker than air reacting to dry ice. The halo falls slowly to the grass and he doesn’t respond for long enough that Maggie looks over at him with a furrow to her brow. “What?”

Her voice snaps Rick’s own into action. He blinks and then picks up Daryl’s halo. “Patricia.”

“Yeah?” Maggie says, back to the bark again.

“She’s...she’s not in Heaven.”

Maggie stops scraping and tosses the most recently freed bark to the ground. “That’s impossible, because she’s not in Hell.”

“No,” Rick agrees, “she’s on Earth.”

Maggie snorts. “Earth? What, one of those reborn people? Hard for me to believe.”

“She’s not reborn,” Rick says carefully. “She’s alive. She never died.”

Rick watches the realization cross over Maggie’s face, the slow slide from boredom to disbelief to processing to a final dawning horror. “She’s not,” Maggie says, voice strong as steel.

“She is,” Rick tells her.

“She’d be too old. She’d be…”

“Just her eighties,” Rick finishes. “She’s in a care facility in Georgia.”

Maggie’s eyes scan past Rick to the road back to 897 Hillside Drive. “They’re waiting for her. Like they were waiting for me. _Fuck_ , Rick. She’s alive?” Rick swallows and nods. Maggie puts a hand to her mouth. “Otis...Otis is waiting for her.”

The thought has crossed Rick’s mind, too. And honestly, he doesn’t know if he should take it as coincidence, if Otis opening the door both times happened to be because he was a welcoming guy or if...if he does it because he’s hoping it’s her. Rick places himself in the man’s shoes and honestly doesn’t know if he would do anything differently if that was Rick waiting for Daryl.

“What do we do?” Maggie asks, but Rick is at a complete loss. He doesn’t know how to handle this one. He didn’t know Patricia before and now that she’s gone around the bend, he is severely skeptical of any reunion that she and Maggie might have. And the last thing Rick wants to do is break her _further_.

But in the end, nothing’s going to change if they don’t move forward, is it? So Rick tentatively suggests, “Go see her?”

Maggie looks like she wants to crawl under a rock and die, but in the end, she just nods. “You’re going to give me some kind of panic seizure before this is all over, aren’t you?” she asks him.

Rick just grunts. “No pain, no gain, “ he says and stands, holds out his hand for her. “But we can’t abandon her like we’ve been abandoned.”

Maggie swallows, but takes Rick’s hand and stands up, starts picking bark dust out from under her nails. “I’ve got to be real with you on this one...I have no idea what to do.”

Rick shrugs and gives her the briefest squeeze on the shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”

***

Rick’s confidence that moving forward is best and that they’ll eventually come to a solution is a little cracked by the time they arrive at Pleasant Hill Care Facility. The situation seems pretty fucking hopeless if the woman that Rick knew forty years ago is the same woman now--her brain disconnected with her body, communication shut and locked away in a little box buried somewhere deep within her mind. And what good would showing her to Maggie do? What kindness would that give either of them? But the other situation seems somehow worse--to ignore the problem, pretend like it doesn’t exist. And Rick’s not an angel, but he knows basic things like that a person can’t be healed if they still have a gaping, bleeding wound in their chest.

So they fly invisibly to the facility and land, walk around the place until they find Patricia’s room. She’s on the ground level, so they look in and see the morning in swing full enough for it to be breakfast time. There’s a nurse decked in scrubs standing by her bed, cutting up small bits of egg on a tray beside a milk box. Patricia is lying on the bed, loose fitting neutral colored clothing baggy on her body. Her face looks thin and worn, her hair like brittle threads.

The nurse finishes and sits the tray across Patricia’s lap, helps her to rise. She eats on autopilot, doesn’t even stare at the food that her bony hand brings to her mouth. She barely chews and swallows often and the whole ordeal is over in five minutes, the nurse taking the tray away. She doesn’t acknowledge Patricia, never once says anything to her, and it’s so perfectly routine that it tells Rick and Maggie all they need to know. She’s still the same. She’s still broken.

“We can leave,” Rick offers. “If you don’t want to.” Because Maggie’s well being, her mind and soul, are more important than trial-and-error healing to fix a dead halo. Rick will never stop working to help Daryl, that will always be a given. But there are other ways beyond hurting the rest of his family, if that is what this is coming to.

But Maggie shakes her head, still staring through the glass of the window in Patricia’s direction. “No,” Maggie says, “she needs us. I left her before. I was so _stupid_ , just assuming she was already gone. And so now I have to fix that. We’re going in there.” Rick nods and moves to open the window so they can slip inside unseen, but Maggie grabs his arm, digs her nails in. “No. Human.”

Rick blinks. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t need me. She needs Maggie Greene.”

And with that, Maggie is shimmering and changing, Rick blinking his own appearance to catch up with her. Maggie stands on the lawn of the facility and summons a ponytail, draws her hair up from her face to be recognizable. She turns to Rick and sighs, her eyes wide and focused, looking for all the world like the farmgirl he met forty years ago. “Let’s go see her,” Maggie tells him, her voice far softer than it ever was with the Greenes in Heaven, far quieter that Rick has heard it in quite some time.

Rick lets her lead the way and they curve around the building again and this time go inside to the overly shiny, overly clean reception desk. A well-built man is sitting behind the desk, dark-skinned and with well-groomed facial hair, his nametag reading “Tyreese.” Maggie walks up to the counter with large, confident steps.

“Is it visiting hours?” she asks.

Tyreese looks up at her and nods. “Yes. Til five.”

“I’m here to see someone, then,” Maggie tells him and flattens her arms on the counter as she waits.

Tyreese nods and gives them both once-overs before turning to the computer. “I’ll look you up in the system. What’s the name of the patient?”

“Patricia Gresham,” Maggie says with a practiced business tone.

Tyreese’s fingers pause over the keys. “Ms. Patricia?” he asks with disbelief in his voice.

“Yes,” Maggie clarifies, “Patricia Gresham.”

Tyreese lets his mouth fall open in a dumbfounded expression. “Lady, I’ve been working here for over ten years and _no one_ has _ever_ come to visit poor Ms. Patricia.”

“I know,” Maggie says with a frown. “Look, I haven’t been close with my family. We’re all pretty estranged and it’s only recently that I’ve had any contact with them at all. And they told me...well, they told me where Aunt Patricia was. She’s my great-aunt and I have wonderful fond memories of her as a child. I want to see her again. Especially since my good for nothing parents won’t.”

Tyreese stares her down and for a minute, Rick is worried that Tyreese won’t buy the story, but then he nods slowly and reaches for a clipboard. “You’ll have to fill out the paperwork.” He hands it her way and glances to Rick. “And who’s this to you?”

“Husband,” Maggie clips out and starts scribbling on the form. Tyreese nods and goes back to his computer and his work. Rick slides closer to Maggie and frowns.

“Husband?” he whispers.

“Shut up,” Maggie says and elbows him quickly in the ribs. “Just stand there and act straight. I know it’s hard with how shriveled your dick gets, but try to keep it to yourself.”

Rick huffs and crosses his arms, glances down briefly at his crotch and tells it mentally that it’s not shriveled and it’s just fine and by the time that he gets done with his cock-peptalk, Maggie has the paperwork back to Tyreese and they’re ready to go.

It’s a long walk down the hallway to room 117 as Tyreese leads them and Rick follows on Maggie’s heels, studying the arch of her body. He knows it well by now--knows when she’s going to explode into rage, when she’s hissing in irritation or anger. He knows when she’s frustrated, tired, pissed, annoyed, miffed, violent. What he doesn’t know, though, is fear. Maggie doesn’t have fear. It doesn’t exist in her, as if it was boiled out at the state of her birth, her skin baptized in a coat of armor that never cracks, never wavers. She is the very definition of strength and Rick has always been envious of that, of her ability to stand tall and face anything.

Only he’s starting to learn, just now by watching her in Heaven and watching her walk down this hallway, that Maggie maybe does have fear hidden under her skin. That maybe instead of boiled out, it was just soaked beneath the layers of her flesh, held close and tight so the world will never see. Because Rick is afraid. Rick is terrified of Patricia, this broken woman, is shivering with the anxiety of this visit. And this is not his family, not a woman that he ever knew. But this is Maggie’s. This is her last connection. And so surely, in the depths of herself, she must be afraid.

But she hides it well, keeps her spine straight like polished glass, her steps the thunderbeats of drums. She owns the light green tile under her feet, the heat off the white walls, the slow movements of the nurses. She is both out of place and strangely at home and Rick wonders if she is the queen, walking forth into her kingdom, or the criminal, passing with strength toward death row.

But then all his thoughts are shattered, broken like fallen china to the floor and swept away. Because they are there. They are standing at the door. And Patricia is looking at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's come to my attention that some people want to join the Rickyl Writer's Group, but don't have Tumblrs. That's perfectly fine! You can still join! We need some way to get in contact with you to set up bios and things, but we can definitely work it out and you can take part in A03 challenges and such! If you're interested, you can say so in the comments or email rickylwritersgroup@gmail.com! I would be happy to answer any questions anyone has or you can talk to Skarlatha, our membership ambassador, too.


	35. When It's Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who may be triggered, please check the tags.

“I’ll leave you with her,” Tyreese tells them and disappears back down the long hallway that seems shorter now that Rick can see the whole of it. Maggie swallows hard and walks forward into the room and Rick follows her, curving to the right. When they move, Patricia’s eyes don’t follow them, her irises showing no sign of movement, her pupils dark and endless. Maggie moves beside her, draws a chair up that has probably never been used, and sits to the right of her. Rick follows around to the left and pulls up a chair there as well, mirroring Maggie’s position. Between them, she remains unmoving.

Maggie brushes a strand of hair fallen loose from the ponytail out of her face and leans forward. “Hey, Patricia,” she says, her words soft and honest, losing the quick business-like tone of before, “it’s Maggie.”

Patricia doesn’t respond and Maggie blinks at her, slides her eyes up to Rick’s briefly, and then darts them back down. “I know...I know things have been rough on you.” Maggie reaches forward and gathers Patricia’s hand between her own. “I never should have left you. I...I cannot _tell_ you how sorry I am. I never even thought that things would get to be this way. Do you...can you hear me?” But Patricia does nothing except breathe.

Maggie sighs and slumps her shoulders, casts her Irish green field eyes up to Rick’s. “This is hopeless. She couldn’t hear me before and I’m sure she can’t understand me now.”

Rick leans forward in his chair, thinking. “Merle could heal her,” he tells Maggie, but Maggie’s quick shake of her head cuts that suggestion down.

“No,” she tells him. “I’m not going and then coming back. The second I leave this room, I am _done_ , Rick. I can’t drag this out. And it has to be me. _Us_. This isn’t Merle’s problem, so think of something else.”

Rick sighs and rubs at his chin, the stubble there getting longer from the weight of the last few days. He can’t heal Patricia and neither can Maggie. Demon magic doesn’t work that way and despite the fact that Rick is _trying_ for the halo, what he’s doing with Maggie has nothing to do with the core of his magical being. All he can do is give pain. Not fix it. Give it or amplify it or change it or move it…

Move it. “Hmm,” Rick says to himself and then looks up at Maggie. “What’s broken about her is her mind, right?”

Maggie rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

“No, listen,” Rick tells her, “if it’s her mind that’s hurt, then can we just move the hurt? Funnel the pain into something else? Something physical like her arm or leg. And maybe if the pain is moved from her brain, it would release her enough to at least acknowledge you.”

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever hea--”

“Want me to fly and get Merle?”

“ _No_ ,” Maggie snaps. “I don’t want that tanned fuckface here. I can’t...I just can’t deal with it, okay? You, you’re different. But no one else. So fine. Let’s try to funnel this shit.” She holds out her hand in mid-air for Rick to take. Rick blinks at it. “Stop being a fucking sissy,” she tells him and reaches across Patricia, grabs his fingers hard and then puts her other hand on Patricia’s forehead. Rick grumbles, but does the same, their fingers splayed out across her temple.

“You untangle it,” Rick tells Maggie, “and give it to me and I’ll hold it in her arm.” Maggie nods and then they are both working. Rick feels Maggie’s aura like a hot-burning wood fire across from him and although he can’t exactly tell what’s she’s doing, he knows her magic is alive. And then he feels the trickle, feels Maggie and her well knocking at the tip of his aura and he lets them in, grabs the thread of Patricia’s pain and pulls. It’s a tattered thing, like spools half unwound, covered in breaks and tears and split ends and it peels from her mind slowly like paper molded to wood by rain. It is old and dusty, firm and set in its ways and it takes Rick a long time to gather it, to tease it down into the creases of Patricia’s flesh, to make the skin and the bones and sinew take the thread and boil with it, tickle out sensations until her body vibrates, recognizes it like extra nerve endings and busts out in red hot pulses of pain.

Her first reaction is to cry out. Maggie is quick to lean forward, to hush her so the nurses outside won’t hear and Patricia quiets under the demand, but the pain crinkles her eyes and makes her shin break out in goosebumps and then shake. She is no longer dead and her eyes now respond to movement, her right hand reaches forward, but her voice is still gone. Rick is just about to give up, to determine that the pain that invades her body is too strong for her to fight through when she says with a raspy, unused voice, “Maggie.”

Maggie’s eyes go wide and her whole face changes, becomes softer and loses its tension. For a moment, she is not Maggie the demon, but Maggie the girl who watched Rick carrying a bleeding body into the house, Maggie the girl who thought until then that her whole life stretched ahead of her. She takes Patricia’s hand and squeezes, breathes the name out. “Patricia.”

“You’re...you’re here,” Patricia says with a cracked smile. “Where is Otis? Maggie, where is my husband?”

“He’s close by,” Maggie lies, “just waiting for you.”

Patricia blinks and then keeps blinking, her eyes like the little dots of Morse code. “He’s dead. I’m sorry, I...I remember now. He’s dead. He was shot.”

“Yes,” Maggie tells her, “but you and I are still here.”

“Where is Hershel?”

“...dead.”

“And Annette?”

“Dead.”

“Beth...Shawn?”

“Dead, Patricia. It’s just you and me here, okay? A lot of time has passed.”

Patricia shakes her head. “I know that. I know...forty years, I know. I remember...I thought...Maggie!” She suddenly grabs ahold of her hand harder, squeezes and brings Maggie down further to her. “I thought that the Lord had forgotten me. Years ago...but I haven’t been forgotten, have I?”

Rick sets his jaw and dips his head, keeps funnelling and tries not to hurt too hard at her words. _Forgotten_. She damn well was, there for a while. By everyone, including them.

But Maggie is stronger than he is. She nods and keeps her voice even as she says, “The Lord works in ways we can’t see. You were never forgotten.”

“I thought about slipping away,” Patricia admits. “About going. There are so many kitchen knives, Maggie. Do you know? In the world. But I couldn’t do that. I had to keep going. It’s not for me to decide, is it? What the Lord wills. Soon, I’ll be with Otis again. It’s just a few more years. It can’t be much longer, not much anymore. I just have to keep waiting. That’s all I do now. Wait.”

“He’s waiting for you, too,” Maggie tells her and reaches forward, soothes her hair back. “That’s all _he’s_ doing.”

“You look so young,” Patricia tells her with a startling laugh. “I thought you would have aged.”

Maggie bites her lip and then shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I’m just an angel, Patricia. I’m just your angel. And I’m just here to ask you if you want to go home.”

“Home?” Patricia asks, her eyes shining and then she nods, looks up at the ceiling and nods again. “Home. _Home_. It’s all I ever dream of.”

“It’s pretty there. White clouds and gold streets. Trees that sounds like wind chimes.”

“The Lord will bring me there,” Patricia tells her firmly. “That’s where I’ll go. I just have to wait...it’s so hard to wait, Maggie. I hurt so much.”

“You’ve always had faith,” Maggie says and stares down, frowning. She runs her fingers over the bones in the back of Patricia’s hand. “You’ve had more faith than any of us.”

Patricia smiles at her. “Of course. Faith is all I need.”

“I’m so sorry,” Maggie tells her, scrunches her nose up and then shakes her head, blinks her eyes rapidly. “I left you and I am _so sorry_.”

“You never left,” Patricia says. “Weren’t you always here?”

“No. No,” Maggie says with a dip of her head. “But I’m here now. I’m here for you now. Okay? So why don’t you go to sleep. Just shut your eyes. And keep waiting. And I’ll stay here with you until the end.”

Patricia nods and follows Maggie’s words, slides her eyes closed and keeps smiling. Maggie looks over at Rick, eyes hard as steel in the fluorescent light. “I know what we need to do,” she says and Rick nods, because he knows it, too. Demon magic is never used for this, never meant for this purpose, twisted into some kind of abomination. But Rick can’t help but feel that they’re on the right path, all of them, and when Maggie’s hand takes his again and squeezes, when their magic pools together like rivers hitting the sea, it’s almost like it sings, almost like it’s beckoning with trumpets and the hard, solid drumline of a heartbeat.

Maggie is the one to begin and Rick follows her, bolsters what she does. She begins by reaching out, grabbing hold of the thread of pain that’s concentrated in Patricia’s flesh. It bends to her easier the second time, warping around her well and she feeds it, lets it grow long and angry and then directs--flows it through the veins that open wide for it. Beneath them, Patricia’s body sighs, finally releasing the tension in her muscles and accepting the thing that has been haunting her for all this time. With that release, things go easier. The first to stop is her lungs as they soften down, fold like paper origami unraveling flat, settle against her chest and surrender their feverish motions. And then her heart, the steady rhythm taxing into nothing, the organ falling down in its absolution. And then her veins, the quieting of the blood into lake waters under unmoving wind. And the last, the thread moving to the final resting place, her mind, where it came from. It coils back into place like the settling of sediment on the river floor, folds itself back into the crevices that it has made over decades of time.

Rick and Maggie sigh in relief, move their hands from her body and remove the grip they have on each other. They stare down at her for the longest moments and Rick doesn’t have to ask what Maggie is thinking, because he’s thinking it as well. She’s where she belongs. Where she’s always wished to go. And somewhere up there, in clouds softer than sky, in streets paved with gold, Otis is walking through the hallway heavy for the last time, opening the door with purpose in one final motion. And they are together. Home.

And now maybe _he_ can go home. Back to where he belongs with Daryl waiting for him, with Judith ready to jump into his arms. The thought seems so rudimentary, so natural and right---this, _this_ has to be their destination, not Heaven or Hell, but _this_ \--that it shocks Rick when Maggie speaks. “I have to go back,” she tells him, “to the farm. I have to go back.” 

Rick blinks at her, pulls his arms into his chest, but in the end, nods his consent. Because of course she does. And of course Rick will go with her.


	36. Dust Blown Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! I'm posting a day early this week for Thanksgiving! I won't be on tomorrow, so here's tomorrow's chapter a bit early. :) See you Saturday for when DARYL COMES BACK!!!!!!

The farm is dead. Or rather, the farm is crumbled. Everything around them looks different and Rick finds it completely surprising, in fact, that the house isn’t still standing proud, that the barn isn’t off to the side lying there morose and anxious. He expected, even after all of these years, for everything to have remained as petrified in ice as he was. If he was the same man, if he had clung to the same despair and destruction, then why didn’t it? Why didn’t the boards refuse to bend under the weight of wind and water and time? Why didn’t the foundation refuse to shift, to sink into the Georgia ground?

But it did. They did. And here it all is. Rick can barely tell, now, what is the forest and what is the field, the vegetation thick and grown over roads and the nice little neat lines of crops in the dirt. He knows somewhere within all of it, somewhere woven in around the loblolly pines, he saw a deer once. Knows that between the wild thistle and the bottlebrush buckeye, he carried his son, dripping and weak and fighting for all he had. And he knows, too, that somewhere where vines and thorns have grown over the ashes of a barn fire, laid the bones of two people put down by the long arm of Rick’s own grief.

Maggie and Rick don’t speak. Not about this. They barely stand next to each other, instead wandering over the wild earth that has claimed what it lost years before Maggie or Rick were ever born. It is both taunting and comforting to know that all of the blood spilled, all of the horrible crimes that happened, have been washed over as easy as the ocean covers sand. There is nothing left of Rick here, not even scraps to dig from. He could spend his whole life with his hands in this brush, ripping and pulling the roots from the ground, eyes scanning for a life discarded long ago. But he will never find it. So what is the use in trying? And Rick wouldn’t even want to if he could. Because this doesn’t belong to him now. It doesn’t even belong to Maggie. It’s old and taken, covered in barberry and dandelions and it belongs to the wild now, to the deer that are surely overflowing without Rick or Otis to get in their way.

But still, it is worth his time to look. Still, it is worth his time to sink the images of the long, green stems and the wild shooting trunks into his mind, wash them over the images of the barn boards, of how the porch wood creaked, how the brush of the manicured field felt on his legs, sweeping to his knees. Rick has no idea how long they stay there, how long they take it all in, but yes. Yes it is worth it.

When they are finished, they walk east slowly, avoiding conversation, Rick afraid to break the thin silence between them. It takes him many heavy steps before he realizes what direction they are going and several more to pinpoint why. And when he does realize, when it becomes as crystal clear as the fire in Maggie’s eyes that they are walking toward the graveyard, he still doesn’t speak. Still doesn’t waver. Merely follows Maggie’s footsteps up the hill and through the gate, past the headstones now weathered with time until they arrive at the last one, at Shawn Greene’s, old and gray and chipped.

The wind picks up, tousles their hair and now it is past sunset, the last stripes of light fading the land around them. It feels dark, hallowed and sacred, standing here beside her. An end to a beginning long ago thrashed into existence. And here, the same as before, it is Maggie who speaks first.

“I never cried for them,” she says, speaks as she stands at Shawn’s grave, one hand tight around her chest, the other pulled up where she bites at a nail. “Not once. They didn’t deserve that. They were the ones who chose to leave and so why should I feel for them? Why should I shed my emotion for all those bastards that just checked out one after one?” She shakes her head at the stone. “And I didn’t cry for myself, either. I’m stronger than that. What was it going to do me, feeling sorry for myself? Why cry over something that was dead? There wasn’t a way to change it. No way back. All I could do was pick up and keep walking and so why should I cry that my feet still had to push through the earth and theirs were resting still? Fuck. I never cried. I never did.”

Rick lowers his head beside her, listens with rapt attention as the sky moves into pink and purples dulled across the land. “But I…” Maggie starts and then takes a huge breath into herself. “Now all I feel like doing is crying. God. For that _stupid_ little girl who stood here, you know? For all the stupid choices she made.” Maggie shakes her head angrily and brings her hand up to her face, worries at the creases of her eyes. “And for you, too. For that stupid little boy with his stupid little gun. We...we’re old, aren’t we? I didn’t think like that. Not till now, but we are. God, we’re older than all this dust surrounding us.” Maggie kicks out at the stone, her boot hitting it with a hollow thud. “And we’ll be old for forever. Just collecting things to change. There are so many things to do different.”

She falls into silence and her voice and the world quiet into the thrill of night, the sky deepening into a blue that’s even darker than Daryl’s eyes. Rick thinks of him now, thinks of him shining in his beautiful aura that first day he saw him and then thinks of how he’s changed. Because Rick isn’t the only one who’s done a one-eighty on his life. The Daryl above him that night, twinkling with the fire in his eyes of six years of _Earth_ , with an understanding that has just begun to fill his veins with the grayness of everything, black and white discarded, is the Daryl that Rick loves. There’s something between them now even heavier and more solid than the first time they kissed right there on the house steps, the first time they made love and Rick fell apart under him. They are bound together now, tied up in knots that will never untie, because they finally understand one another, they finally _get it_. It took Daryl taking Hell in and Rick breathing Heaven out to get there, but they have. Rick looks north, to where he knows Daryl is waiting and Daryl doesn’t have to be right by his side for him to feel it. And for Rick to know that Daryl feels it just the same back. They are one now, two sides of a coin with interlocking fingers that will never let go. Rick closes his eyes and takes it all into himself, feels Daryl’s arms strong around his waist, his wings sitting soft on Rick’s skin, his breath a tickle in his ear. _Help her_ , Daryl would tell him. _Forget about you and me. But help her. This is Maggie. Help her heal._

And so Rick does. He reaches out for Maggie’s hand and pulls it from her lips. She sighs and lets her other arm fall useless by her side until she is open before the grave. Rick squeezes her palm and says so gently, “Then cry.”

It begins slow, like the sunset where there is no real beginning and no real end. One moment, Maggie’s cheeks are dry like they have been dry for forty years and the next, she is crying, her voice catching up gradually to the slipping of tear stains from her eyes. She remains standing like stone for so long, Rick cannot fathom it, but reluctantly, like the last fall leaf letting go of the branch, she falls. Rick catches her waist and tips her, slides her down in front of her brother’s grave and Rick falls with her, too, keeps on holding her through it all. It turns from release into wailing, a deep seated sound that was born for this forest, born for the wildness of the night sky that has yet to show its stars. She screams, the emotion ripping from her in waves and the tears flow through her like dam water, breaking and breaking and breaking upon the surface below. It is forty years and nine lives too late, but here she is, _finally_ and Rick is a witness to it, the only witness like he has always been for all this time.

She bows her spine over his lap, lets the curtain of her hair hide her and her body shake it all out. Rick listens with everything he has in him, like a record that drinks in every sob and mourn of her body. Because this, even this, is hallowed, is something to be recognized, something to be in awe of. It is what he was made for, what he has been moving forward to all along.

When the north star rises, Maggie does as well, pulls her head up and begins to wipe at the force of her own unraveling. Rick lets her be for a moment before he reminds her in a whisper that breaks through the untamed ferocity of her tears, “This isn’t your brother.” Maggie nods and her lip quivers, but she nods again as if to dispel it. “He’s not here. None of them are. All that’s here are _bones_ and we, Maggie, you and I...we are _not_ bones. We can’t be. We are living things. We are things that can keep _standing_ , that can keep _walking_. We can come back from this, from all of this. There is nothing, do you hear me, nothing that can stop us. Not them and not ourselves.”

Rick takes her hands in his and holds her, sitting there on the grass beside her. She is still human and so is he, but the night was not made for human. The rustling of the trees like hissing above their heads and the sounds of animals writhing in the darkness are not made for man, not made for what they used to be.

So Rick lets himself out, lets his wings stretch into the darkness, lets his tail curve to meet the stars. This is where he belongs. He is the emperor of this and Maggie is the empress and here, now, belongs to them--not ash, not dust, not carved and chipped stones. “Be with me, Maggie,” Rick begs of her. “Don’t leave me alone in this world. There are two choices in front of you, but only one is forward and you know that. That stupid little girl, she made so many wrong choices, but she also brought you here. Like that stupid little boy brought me here. Brought me to Daryl and brought me to you. _We_ brought us here and never forget that. You have to let go of them. You have to, for _once_ in your life, live for _you_ and not _them_.”

“How do I do that?” Maggie asks, her voice so lost and soft, her sounds so heartbreakingly open.

“As easy as we started it,” Rick tells her. “As simple as a few words.” He squeezes her hand and knows now, finally, with a burst of light across his soul, with the force of flinging open windowless doors into the bright morning air, what he has to do. “Say it with me.” He takes a breath into himself. “Otis.”

Maggie squeezes her eyes shut and pushes out the last few tears before she nods lightning fast and grips his hand like prayer, like redemption. She ripples her body out into her demon form, her close cut horns, her strong and powerful wings. _“Otis,_ ” she breathes and the grass ripples for her in the wind.

“Annette,” Rick says.

“Annette.” She bows her head to him, puts her forehead against his hands.

“Beth.”

“ _Beth_.” Her voice is a cry like the screech of nighthawks.

“Hershel.”

“ _Hershel_.” Her body rocking forward and back, working them from her soul.

“Shawn.”

“Shawn.”

“Patricia,” Rick says finally.

“Patricia.”

And then the world is still, silent and dark. The stars above them pop out into little pinpoints of light and the moon grows higher across the slope of the graveyard. Maggie lifts her body slowly, straightens her spine back to sitting and Rick can already tell the weight that has fallen off of it, the skin of her old body that she has shed and left here with all the rest of the dead.

Around them, the forest starts to flicker in, wind at first and then crickets, the soft hooting of a Barred Owl far away.

“I’m going to be okay,” Maggie tells him and then squeezes his hand and releases it. “ _We’re_ going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Rick tells her and smiles, thinking of Judith and Daryl and Merle waiting back for them, thinking of the family they have created out of nothing, out of the dust of five threadbare lives. “We are.”

Maggie blinks and then looks down at Rick’s waist and her eyes grow wide, which is Rick’s first clue before the light breaks in upon the both of them, so softer than it used to be, a filtered silver gray. Rick frowns and barely has time to react before Maggie breathes, “ _The halo_ ,” and Rick snaps his gaze to his belt. And there, sitting pretty up against his waist, is Daryl’s halo, glowing again and smooth like polished metal once more. Only instead of gold, it is now a soft metallic silver-black, like hematite made out of the gritty ash that it used to be, now firm and shining on the surface, beckoning him home.

Rick digs the halo from his belt and snaps it up to stare at it. He opens his mouth to speak and tries to gather the words in himself to express what he’s feeling, but Maggie beats him to it. She grabs his shoulders and digs her nails in. “What are you waiting for, you stupid fuck?” she tells him. “Fly. _Fly_. Go home. Go home to him.”

“But you--”

“Fuck me,” Maggie tells him. “I’m fine. I’m better than I’ve ever been. But I swear to Carol if you don’t fly home right now this instant, I will bust my knuckles against your teeth and then _neither_ of us will be fine.”

Rick nods and jumps into the air from his sitting position, impressively catching himself into an updraft. “Are you sure?” he calls back at her, but his wings are already carrying him onward, carrying him _home_.

Maggie calls back to him from the ground, “Go get him!” and Rick is sure, so very, very sure that he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [Comes and Goes by Greg Laswell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0LNhIaGAUw)


	37. Gold and Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!

Rick’s wings have never beat the air so fucking fast in his whole life. He soars, hits every upwind he can find and cruises with the power of the cosmos behind him, rushing him on. The halo at his side dings with beautiful new magic and shines like a star to guide his way, but Rick doesn’t need guidance. He doesn’t need the ground or the sky or maps or lights to bring him forth to Daryl. His skin sings his direction, his heart beats wildly in his chest, and his tail whips and turns and flutters in the breeze, trying to beat Rick to his final destination.

Miles soar past and then counties and then long, wild stretches of forest and as Rick gets closer, things become more familiar--there was where he flew with Daryl through the trees, light above Judith’s head, there was where he sat in his boxelder as Judith came to pull him from it, there was where he and Maggie stood on that awful fateful day when everything broke apart, there in the distance is the park where little Judith used to play, there is Rick’s old apartment, there is Shane’s, there the old house and there, there, _oh for everything grand in the universe, there_ is home.

And there, before him now, is Daryl, rushing from the front door as if he’s sensed Rick and stopping in his tracks on the front lawn. Rick spins to a stop, too, stills in mid-air and looks at him, _sees_ him, drinks in the most glorious sight in all of the dimensions. Because it is _his_ Daryl, _his_ angel, with wings soft and white again, dipped in that beautiful comforting silver, his eyes alight, his skin glowing, his radiance floating up to Rick like a magnet pulling him home. And for the first time in such a long time, for the first time in _forever_ , there is absolutely _nothing_ stopping them from each other, not even one small atom between them to push them apart.

Rick aims to prove it. He dives at the same time that Daryl opens his arms and then they are crashing together, rolling and tumbling down onto the manicured front lawn. The halo goes flying across the grass, but neither of them care because Rick is in Daryl’s arms, so warm and safe and _right_ and their wings are fluttering together and Rick’s tail has an awfully tight grip on one of Daryl’s thighs, refusing to let go and it’s been _so long_ , so very, very _long_ since Rick touched him like this, since Rick poured himself into Daryl so sickeningly sweet and let himself be held, cherished and cared for.

It takes Rick long, long moments to be able to sort out just what his and Daryl’s body are doing, to differentiate where he ends and Daryl begins, to pull apart the wild thumping of his soul from the symphony of Daryl’s. When he finally clues in, he knows they are kissing. They are collapsed on the ground together, sitting, but with their limbs scattered about, Rick half in Daryl’s lap and they are together. Have come together naturally like the earth soaks up rain, like trees sprout from the ground, like the wind takes the leaves in the fall. They are together, _together_ , their mouths moving on each other like the start of the entire world, their lips and teeth and tongues merging and falling in like the weaving of continents forming. Rick has him. Has him in his arms. And Daryl, well, Daryl has him, too. And it doesn’t look like either of them are ever going to let go.

“I love you,” Daryl whispers between the dancing of their mouths, “ _I love you_.”

And Rick says it back, so sincerely it takes his breath away, his hands cradling Daryl’s neck. “I love you. I love you. I _love_ you.”

Daryl falls back into him again, kisses him for all he is worth with roaming hands and moving lips, his wings gathering Rick up in cascades of feathers, pulling him into Daryl’s lap and cushioning him softly and securely. Rick moans in the back of his throat and it turns into a sigh and he could do this forever, _forever and ever_ , but then, above it all, a little shriek followed by “DAD!”

They snap apart in embarrassment and Daryl swivels his gaze to the porch, where Judith has come outside and is gazing awestruck at the two of them. Rick, for his part, ducks his head into Daryl’s chest to hide and Daryl pulls one wing over him to cover him in a little cocoon.

“Nothing to see here,” Daryl grunts at her. “Go back inside, Little Light. Daddies will be in in a second.”

Judith hesitates, turns her body halfway to the door, but Rick sees the desperation in her eyes, the little bite to her lip. He curls himself away from Daryl and stands a little shakily and then holds out his arms for her. She rushes to them quickly and throws herself against his chest as he hugs her in tightly to him. “Tell me you’re not going back,” she says. “Tell me you’re staying. I couldn’t _sleep_ without you here.”

Daryl smiles softly at them. “She couldn’t. Even with me in the room.”

Rick bends down to kiss the top of her head. “This is the first time she’s been away from me since she was a baby. Cut her some slack.”

“Yeah,” Judith agrees and then looks up at Rick. “He’s trying to be the tough parent. Tell him what I do with my tough teachers.”

Rick laughs and arches an eyebrow at Daryl. “She eats them.”

“I _destroy_ them,” Judith says confidently and sticks her nose in the air.

“What a good monster,” Rick says with a ruffle to her hair, “but Judy--”

“No!” Judith says firmly and clings to him for dear life. “You’ve been gone for so long. I’m not going back in the house. Can’t you kiss him while I’m here?”

Rick blushes scarlet at that, thinking about just _what_ kind of kissing he wants to do to Daryl, but over Judith’s head, he just arches his eyebrows. Daryl shrugs at him with a smile and stands up from his place on the lawn, grabs the discarded halo and puts it up on his head. “She missed you something terrible,” he tells Rick.

Rick nods, but his insides are fluttering, holding his little girl close to him. She has been the center point of his life for so long now, the star around which he rotates, that it will be hard for them all to adjust, hard for Rick to turn from a single-star system into a dual one. But it will be good, too. Because Rick can’t imagine something better than sitting on the couch in Judith’s bedroom, Daryl curled happily and warmly at his side. It’s fitting, all three of them. Three sides of a triangle.

And so Rick gathers Judith up and walks her into the house with Daryl right on his heels and the second they are in the door, Judith bursts into action, telling Rick all her woes of the past few days, like how Merle is a crappy math teacher and no one in this house knows how to cook a good breakfast and they can’t play Monopoly with just the three of them--even though Daryl admits he kind of nixed the idea because of Merle’s cheating.

Rick and Daryl sit on the couch and let her zoom around the living room, showing them this and that, telling Rick stories, and settling back into a rhythm of her-and-her-demon. She shows Rick the math workbook with three more pages complete and even admits to reading ten pages of her history work. She shows him a drawing she made and equations that she had scratched out on the side of a piece of notebook paper, tells him about how dumb Dumbass was, but how Lori took him to the vet for a vaccine shot and she was worried.

When she gets tired of all the running, tired of all the jumping, but still unable to leave Rick’s side, she grabs her book from the study and curls up on the carpet beside his feet, on her stomach with her legs sticking up, brushing Rick’s here and there as she swings them. Rick tells her to read out loud and she does, interjecting her opinion between the sentences on the page.

As she reads, Rick turns to Daryl, gives him his full attention and slowly starts to blush under his hot blue gaze. He swings his tail lazily against the couch, thumps it on the cushion, and ducks his head down in a wave of shyness. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so very nervous around Daryl until it hits him that this is the first time that he and Daryl have truly been on the same page, no holds barred, shining fateful love casting them in a pretty big spotlight.

Daryl pulls down his halo from where it has finally come to spin atop his head again and stares at it, takes in the different color and turns it around in his hands. “You...you did this for me,” he whispers under Judith’s litany about how the cat in her book is a _stupid_ cat, blushing himself and sounding for all the world awestruck.

Rick looks at the halo and then back up to Daryl’s eyes, their striking and succulent pools that Rick could drown in forever. “Yes,” he says, “of course I did.”

Daryl blinks and looks down at the halo again. “My grace is back. I thought...I thought surely it was gone.”

“You fixed me,” Rick whispers, places his hands over Daryl’s where they’re holding the halo, “and you didn’t even think you’d come back from that. You _sacrificed_ yourself for me.”

“Yes,” Daryl admits easily. “Of course I did. You’re the love of my life. Beyond that, I think. You’re part of my soul.”

Rick chuckles softly and can’t help but smile intimately in Daryl’s direction. He leans forward so that his mouth is right next to Daryl’s ear, so Judith won’t overhear what he has to say. “You’re a dumb fuck. What would I be without you? How could I go on with you hurt?”

“Well I’m not hurt,” Daryl says and bends his mouth to Rick’s ear in a mirror motion so they are sitting there, necks entwined on a couch that is not nearly as soft as the cloud that Rick hopes Daryl will lay him down on later, “Not anymore. You saw to that.”

“Of course I did,” Rick tells him again and touches the opposite side of Daryl’s neck, holds him in place.

“You went to Heaven and back,” Daryl swallows, “for me.”

“And you were worth every second of it.” Rick runs his fingers over Daryl’s skin and dips his hands to go over his shoulder, his arm. “Even if the clouds were awful fucking fluffy.”

Daryl laughs softly and pulls back enough to hold up the halo for Rick to see. “Good reward, though.”

“Yeah?” Rick says with a smile. “I fought long and hard to get that grace to you. Better be worth it.”

“Not just to me,” Daryl says casually and Rick blinks.

“...what?”

Daryl furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side. “Uh, Rick, you do realize that it didn’t _all_ funnel back into the halo, right?”

Rick grunts. “Then where the fuck did it go?” he says rather loudly and Judith stops reading and spins her head around, gives him quite a judgemental look for an eight-year-old.

Daryl nods down behind Rick and Rick frowns until he spins and looks, nearly slaps himself in the face with his tail--with his _new, gold-tipped tail_. He squeaks and nearly gives himself whiplash from looking between Judith, Daryl, and his own new appendage. Judith just rolls her eyes and goes back to her book, but Daryl laughs and reaches over, grabs the spade and brings it up between them so that Rick can thoroughly examine it. And sure enough, the thing curls its new gold self around Daryl’s palm and settles down, squeezes at his hand. “That’s…”

“Gold?” Daryl finishes. “Yeah. And look.” He holds up the shiny gray-black halo. “I still got a little darkness. I still have part of your well. And I guess, since my grace couldn’t fill itself all the way up, it gave a little to you. So you have some, too.”

“I have _grace_ ,” Rick spits and curls his nose up, makes a gagging motion with his mouth. “ _Blech_.”

Judy laughs at him and hops up on the couch to sit by his side. Daryl, on the other hand, just tsks and shakes his head. “Now, don’t be that way,” he tells Rick and Rick lets a self-imposed shiver cascade through his body.

“I have _angel_ magic in me.”

Daryl’s eyes twinkle pretty heavily as he says, “Well, I imagine you’re going to have to get used to that. Having angel things in you.”

Rick widens his eyes and hisses at him to shut up, but Judy has missed that particular innuendo and is now taking it upon herself to study Rick’s tail for her own self, pulling it out of Daryl’s hand so it falls back to her. “So you’re like, an angel-demon,” she tells Rick and then cranes her neck to see Daryl. “And you’re a demon-angel.” They both turn and frown at her. “It’s like when x and y are on the different sides of the equation and then you divide by one of them.” She shrugs her shoulders and looks Rick straight in the eye. “Your tail looks dumb now.”

Rick glowers and smacks her face with it on purpose and she shrieks and tries to tackle him, but Rick wrestles her in pretty thoroughly until the tussle turns into a little tired sagging girl in his arms, spread out half between him and Daryl. “I’m tired,” she tells him, “but I don’t want to go to bed. I miss you.”

Rick smiles down at her. “Well, Little Monster, still gotta tuck you in, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” she says and her eyes light up. “Are you going to stay with me while I sleep?”

“Go brush your teeth,” Rick tells her, avoiding the question, “and get in bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She scatters to the bathroom and Rick takes a long second before he finally turns to Daryl, keeping his eyes down and refusing to meet his gaze. “I’ll tuck her in,” he says and then his voice drops lower, softer, the creep of hesitation wiggling in. “...and then I’ll meet you in the guestroom?”

“Hey,” Daryl whispers to him and slides his hand on Rick’s neck, puts his thumb under his jawline and tilts up until Rick flicks his eyes to Daryl’s wide, blue expanse. “Of _course_ you’ll meet me in the guestroom. What’s wrong?”

“I…” Rick swallows and shrugs. “It’s stupid,” he says softly, like the living room with the worn carpet and the drapes that need to be replaced is as sacred as the start of night in a graveyard, “but I feel like...like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know? This is too good to be forever.”

Daryl scoots closer and pulls Rick to him and Rick falls against his chest, puts his head in the crook of Daryl’s throat. “Fuck that,” Daryl tells him, softly like the rain rolling in, “because I never want this to end and I will never let it. And if that’s what _you_ want and _you_ will never let it, then how can it ever stop? Look at what you’ve done, Rick. Look at the laws of God that you have bent and made your own. And look at what I’ve done, too. It’s _impossible_. That’s what they said to me. That’s what _she_ said to me, Michonne, standing by her little fountain. She told me I couldn’t heal you. That I couldn’t help you. And I did. She told me I would be different if I tried. That I would never be the same. And you know what? I don’t give a shit. Because if this is different, then this is what I want.” Daryl tips Rick’s head back again so he can stare at him, so they can be present with each other, their hearts born and dying in the steady beats between them, reawakened and alive. “If loving you is different, then I don’t ever want to go back.”

“You think we can do this?” Rick asks. “You think we can keep going like this, an angel and a demon trying to make something of each other?”

“But we’re not an angel and a demon,” Daryl tells him. “We’re me and you. And me and you...we can do anything.”

“Then kiss me,” Rick whispers. “Kiss me and help me believe it.”

And Daryl does. Moves forward like the dust that swirled and congealed to make the earth. He touches Rick’s lips lightly, his own dry but soft, and although their mouths move together with the smooth ease of feathers brushing, it feels monumental, deep and solid and striking, a boulder that will never move. And Rick’s heart opens to him, fans itself apart like it has never truly done because this man knows all of him, knows his grief, his sadness, and his terrible, awful actions. But he also knows the good things of him, too--his strength, his fortitude, the awe-inspiring and total focus of his love. And no one has ever known that about Rick. No one has been able to see the good in him, not like Daryl has.

And Rick sees all of Daryl, too. Sees the sacrifices he makes for his family, his ability to protect and give all of himself. He sees Daryl before, as he was, distant and closed off, unable to be anything because he never truly knew himself. But here he is now and Rick sees him, sees the film that covers his skin of six years on the ground, six years of heartache and pain and determination. Sees how he came _through_ it all to be here and Rick knows that Daryl loves him, can feel it like sunlight on his flesh. And it is reciprocated, given back, reflected until all their light and all their darkness, all their pain and all their joy, molds into this moment, into their two bodies as they move together, lips pressed into one.

Daryl pulls back slowly, retreats back into himself, but his smile is Rick’s, his hands as they touch are Rick’s, and the flutter of his eyelashes, the pupils as they dilate are also Rick’s. “Meet me in the guestroom,” Daryl whispers to him and gives him one last final kiss. He stands and retreats, touches Rick until the very last moment when he can’t and as he walks back into the house, Rick truly believes that his soul goes with him, every fiber of his being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG! 
> 
> [End of All Time by Stars of Track and Field](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wo54Bi-i9wg)


	38. Absolutes

Judith is so tired that she can barely keep her eyes open, so it doesn’t take long to coax her to sleep. Rick sits on her bed and stays with her until she’s under, but he promises before she closes her eyes that he will be here when she wakes up. He tells her honestly as she snuggles in that when she goes to sleep, he’ll go talk to Daryl--he knows that if she wakes and he’s not here, she’ll panic, a trait given to her by his own anxieties. She nods her understanding and he tells her again, even after so many times, that he loves her, that she is his little monster. And tomorrow, he promises, is all hers. He won’t leave her side. Not even for a second.

When she finally closes her eyes, finally drops off, she begins snoring instantly and Rick knows that neither she nor Daryl were lying. She only snores after great exhaustion, after she hasn’t been sleeping well for days. It has only happened twice before, colds both times, and Rick knows now how much she cares for him, how much she’s _missed_ him.

  
But he misses her, too. Even being only eight, she is his companion, the constant presence at his side. He will do anything for her, anything at all. But for now, for right now, he has a date with an angel. And that, oh that, is important, too. Because Rick has more than just a child now. More than just a daughter to raise. He has a family and that bursts within his heart and spurs him down the hallway to the cracked-open white painted door that he not so long ago sat against, trying to convince himself not to love Daryl.

Daryl is waiting for him, leaning against the wall just inside and Rick smiles at him, closes and locks the door and turns, is greeted with a ravishing kiss. “I missed you,” Daryl tells him between the slide of their mouths, “the feel of your body.” He pushes Rick back against the wall and follows him, presses him into it and puts one hand firm on the wall beside them. The room ripples, sings for a second with something that isn’t the ding of heaven, but deeper, older and darker. “What did you do?” Rick asks in curiosity, even though he can barely keep his focus off Daryl’s lips long enough to process words.

“Soundproof,” Daryl tells him. “Figure we’re going to be loud fuckers.”

Rick chuckles. “Is that so?” he asks and hooks his fingers in Daryl’s belt loops, drags him in harder. Daryl’s body slots to his and Rick tingles at the hard planes of his chest, the smooth dip of his stomach and legs where they contour to Rick’s own limbs. “I don’t think I’ll mind that.”

Daryl laughs low in his throat and leans forward to nip at Rick’s chin. “Didn’t think you would,” he growls and then goes back to kissing, back to diving his tongue inside and pushing his whole essence in, claiming Rick in a way that makes him shiver with want. Rick falls back against the wall and lets Daryl pin him there, lets the smoothness of the surface behind him and the hot curving of the body before fly him to a place of pure bliss. Daryl slides his thigh forward, presses it right into the slot of Rick’s own legs and Rick moans into his mouth, lets Daryl catch the sound on his tongue and savor it.

“Cloud?” Rick asks, his voice a deep purring rattle.

“Mmm,” Daryl agrees in between sucking Rick’s bottom lip for all it’s worth, “cloud. But it’s not up yet.”

Rick blinks and looks at the bed, finds that it _isn’t_ out and wonders how he missed that big of a detail until Daryl starts sucking at his throat, nipping and biting at whatever skin he can find. “ _Carol_ ,” Rick breathes out, “what are you doing to me?”

“Loving you,” Daryl mutters into his throat. “And fucking you.”

“You better create that fucking cloud pretty fucking fast, then.”

“No,” Daryl tells him and grabs his hands, slaps them into the wall and holds them above Rick’s head. “You create it.”

Rick moans and thrusts his hips forward into Daryl’s warm body, his tail trying to snake over Daryl’s clothing where his hands can’t, before his mind grabs the words from the air like flying dandelion seeds. He frowns. “ _What_?”

“You have angel magic,” Daryl tells him. “You be the good one.” He leans close to Rick’s ear and nips at it. “And I’ll be the _bad one_.”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Rick breathes because Daryl’s words and Daryl’s mouth have already made him as hard as a fucking rock.

Daryl chuckles. “I will. But cloud first.” He keeps Rick’s left hand held tight to the wall, but he brings the other down. He caresses it, runs their skin together and then slowly threads their fingers. He leaves his pointer finger up and presses it against Rick’s so they are perfectly aligned and then points their joined hands in the direction of the bed. “Think about it and will it into existence.” He leans forward and kisses Rick’s jawline, bites the stubble he finds there. “And do it quick so I can have you on it.”

Rick stares at the bed and tries to concentrate, but is distracted by Daryl’s teeth on his skin again, working down the side of his neck to his shoulder. Still, somehow, he manages to point and conjure a little tiny drop of cloud that grows out into the large, bed-sized one they are used to. Only this one is different. This one isn’t white, but a deep dark red that is almost black and the bottom of it rumbles, tries to spit out little bits of lava rain. “Fuck,” Rick says, “that’s going to ruin the bed sheets.”

Daryl stops his ministrations and looks at the bed now sprinkled with little charred out circles and then starts laughing, full out giggling as he turns back against Rick’s shoulder. His mirth sets Rick off and he snorts. They stand there for a good while, chuckling at the cloud and the little Hell storm it’s creating below it before Daryl gives up and starts walking backwards, dragging Rick that way. “I don’t care what it is,” Daryl tells him, “I’ll fuck in a lava _river_ right now, but you have got to get naked. I have got to have you.”

Rick smiles at that and starts shedding his clothing, dropping them here and there, practically ripping parts off himself. Daryl gets with the program, too, pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it aside and then works on his pants until they are off and discarded. Soon they are both naked, stopped just right by the cloud. Rick admires him, the strong lines of his biceps and the power of his wings, the impurity of the heightened, spinning halo. He steps forward and runs his hands over them, his tail twitching to be added to the mix. His fingers spread over skin, soak into dips like wax fitting into molds and he slides his eyes up to Daryl, through his eyelashes, smiles at him with all the power thrumming through his veins.

Daryl grins mischievously back and then he snaps forward quickly, grabs Rick and picks him up, tosses him onto the cloud before he jumps there himself. It takes their weight and it feels no different from the last one--incredibly fluffy and malleable--only instead of white, it’s dark red puffs this time that fly up from their landing, sharp little snaps of carnelian striking below. “Why are you storming?” Daryl asks above him, props himself up on his hands, but otherwise stretches the length of his body out to cover Rick’s.

“Because I love you so much,” Rick says with a chuckle. “Because this means something to me.”

Daryl smiles, open and free, and dips his head to kiss Rick softly, just a press of their lips. “Me, too,” he admits and then slowly lets his hands release their hold on his body. His skin slides onto Rick’s, his torso and chest and neck, until they are flat and pressed together, Daryl’s weight pushing him deliciously into the soft bending of the cloud below.

“I love you,” Rick whispers and slides his hands around Daryl’s back to hold him there. “Forever. I swear it. How did I get to have you? You’re so beautiful, so strong. You never give up. You never gave up on _me_.”

“You didn’t give up on me, either,” Daryl tells him. “You didn’t let anyone tell you you couldn’t heal me. And for those six years...even if you were hurt, even if the fire of us was dead...there was still a spark. You kept it burning, even if it was small and hidden, tucked away inside your heart.”

“I wish I hadn’t done that to you,” Rick tells him, cards his finger through Daryl’s hair and sighs. “We lost six years of happiness.”

“And I wish I had never abandoned you forty years ago. But I can’t put those forty years on my shoulders. And you can’t put six. Okay? Whatever happened, it’s over. And right now,” Daryl slides his hand up Rick’s chest to touch his cheek, runs a thumb over it, “it’s just us. And we _are_ happy. So let’s enjoy each other and the rest will come.”

Rick nods and smiles. “Yes. So kiss me,” he tells Daryl and beats him to it, leans up and presses their lips together. “And have me,” he whispers against Daryl’s mouth. “And _fuck me_.”

Daryl chuckles and snaps his fingers, summons a lube bottle into his hand. Rick grins at him. “You’re good at demon magic.”

“Fucking fantastic at it,” Daryl tells him and winks with pride. He pops open the cap and slicks up his fingers, before reaching down between Rick’s legs, kissing him softly as his hand moves into place.

“I’m waiting for you,” Rick encourages, his tail landing softly on Daryl’s wrist and helping him guide. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

And then Daryl is sliding a finger inside, moving slow and deliberate, stretching Rick open. Rick falls back on the cloud with his eyes still locked on Daryl’s face, wills his muscles to release under his hand, wills himself to relax and be with Daryl like he has never been with anyone else before. And Daryl takes him so carefully--slides a second finger in and works him, scissors and makes sure he is good and prepared and then, finally then, moves his limbs to lock and interweave and piece together with Rick’s own and they are ready. Daryl is ready. And Rick is too.

Daryl pushes inside and breaches him, kisses Rick while he does it and Rick lets stars explode across his vision, thoughts of what all of this means, thoughts of him and Daryl and forever and little bitty tiny things begin to form, to settle into Rick’s veins and keep his heart beating--things like soaring through the sky together, dipping and weaving and turning in a rhythm that is just them and waking up to each other, soft and warm and present like the one day Rick can remember, his nose in the cloud and Daryl right there, holding him close.

It suddenly seems real, seems _achievable_ \--like Rick could really have this, have Daryl above him, starting to move him in, have his hips roll up into Daryl’s in a steady line, have their mouths upon one another, kissing for all they are worth, have each other naked and vulnerable, but strong and whole.

Rick gives himself over to that, to the feel of Daryl’s body above him as they slide together, the rhythm of his hips pressing forward, Rick’s own legs dragging Daryl in and then guiding him out. His tail lands softly on Daryl’s back, weaves up and over it in drawn-out patterns of things like promise and repentance, then dips lower, touches Daryl in places that only Rick has ever touched. Daryl gasps at the feel of the spade running over his ass and then between his legs, touching his balls as he moves inside of Rick, who memorizes each gasp and groan pulled from Daryl’s mouth. Daryl grins down at him and laughs a little breathlessly at all of it, reaches between them to take Rick into his hand, and then pushes forward to kiss him, slip his tongue between his lips and ghost over Rick’s tongue, heavy with affirmations and sentences that jumble together until they all sound like one word, like one name, _Daryl_ , an invocation that settles down into the bumps of his tongue, the spaces between his teeth, the outline of his cheeks.

Rick takes that moment, takes that word and lets it flow through him, drip in like honey into water and he finally lets go, finally truly _releases_ the worry that has chewed at his mind for years. Because he believes in this, this and only this. They are grander than what their bodies are, grander than their hearts, grander than silly little things like God and fountains or the devil with her trenches. There is no fear anymore, no sadness and no regret, no anxiety or distress. There is only Daryl, Daryl as he strokes Rick, Daryl as he slides inside, Daryl as his skin splays across Rick’s skin like the meeting of the mountain to the valley. And there is only Rick, only how he joins him, how he rotates his hips for Daryl, how he pushes up into his hand, and how he catches his eyes, blue sky for deep, shining sea.

They roll and bend with each other, touch and melt together as the time slips away, as Daryl keeps thrusting deep inside. Rick’s voice takes action and he begins to moan, to cry out the name that is now burned into his soul with the fire of forever, casting it up softly despite its power and when it’s time, Rick whispers, “Come in me,” because he wants it, desires it, _needs_ Daryl to be a part of him forever, Daryl to release as well.

“Yes,” Daryl whispers against his lips and Rick curls his whole body toward him, bows his spine and all his bones. His wings come in, cling to Daryl’s back and his tail wraps around his legs, refuses to let go. Daryl brings his own wings down, covers them to cast their bodies in darkness, but it is the warm, _comfortable_ darkness of themselves and Rick shivers with it. “Finish for me, Rick,” Daryl tells him. “Be with me forever.”

And Rick does, as if the simple words in Daryl’s breath are commands higher than the laws of physics or the splitting of the dimensions. Because for Rick, they are. They are divine law and he comes hard between them, hard up onto Daryl’s stomach and chest and Daryl, with a powerful thrust inside, is finishing as well, is bringing them together fully, the final locking of gears into place.

They come down together, breathe into each other in large, gasping breaths until Daryl finally pulls out, finally rolls to the side. “Shit,” he says to Rick and gathers him close, “that was…”

“Otherworldly?” Rick finishes for him and Daryl just laughs and nods. Rick kisses his shoulder and tilts his body, snuggles in. “I love you,” he tells Daryl. “More than anything in this world.”

Daryl puts his lips into Rick’s hair in a motion to kiss him, but stops, leaves them there and just breathes Rick into his lungs. “I love you, too. And I have you. We have each other.”

Rick smiles and takes his hand, puts it on Daryl’s chest and splays the fingers out, touches as much as he can get of him. “You had _me_ pretty well there,” he says with a chuckle.

Daryl laughs, too, and nods his agreement against Rick’s head. “And you can have me next time.”

Rick hums. “Give me thirty.”

“Thirty?” Daryl tells him and then pushes him over so that they’re both on their sides. A glint enters his eyes, shining in the light of the guestroom. “I have a better idea.” And then he reaches out, touches Rick with just the tips of his fingers, just at his shoulder. He starts moving over Rick’s arm, starts ghosting the fingers down and as he goes, warmth floods Rick’s insides and a heady, sparkling thrill fills his veins.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps to Daryl as his dick automatically starts getting hard again, “you _are_ good at demon magic.”

Daryl just chuckles and ends it with an animalistic growl, pulling Rick on top of him and Rick, for his part, thinks there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.


	39. Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What--is that a new chapter? Is the story now 39 of 40 chapters? Why yes, it is! I decided to make this chapter (what was originally the epilogue) the final chapter and add a nothing-but-smut epilogue that will be released on Thursday! Yay! We have one more chapter to go!

Another evening, another seven o’clock, and they are flying. The sun is just beginning to set, the world cast about on the cusp between the streaking oranges of day and the dark blues of night, and it is lightly cloudy, which serves them perfectly. They dive and weave in and out of clouds, pop in beside each other and then giggle away, like school children, almost, in the light of all of it. Daryl is, as always, stronger and his wings can carry him long distances, but Rick is quick, fast like a cobra, and he zips in and out of Daryl’s path, now under his wings, now above them, now right beside, brushing together.

This is what they do now, instead, while Judith eats dinner with Lori. This is how they spend their time, tumbling together in the open air they both love. Occasionally, they will stay inside, repeat their activities of the last six years. It lasts longer than fifteen minutes now, can turn into a regular fucking sex fest if they’re not careful, the cloud they make together dripping both lava and the water that cools it, turning into little obsidian drops on the sheets. And sometimes, too, they combine--fuck in the air on cloudy days, their wings fluttering to keep them afloat. They do it nasty, kinky, soft and sweet, hard and rough, biting and claiming, smooth like river stones. Whichever way they want. And it’s them. And it’s beautiful.

Today marks the one month anniversary since Rick came back from Heaven, one month with Rick and Daryl living in bliss, with Merle working on his tan and Maggie trying a new thing now, trying to figure herself out, live for no one but her. Judith is loving all of it, especially the attention she gets now from two dads that follow her around like little magnets attached to her side. They take turns at teaching, learning with her geometry and the importance of Gettysburg, and she splits her time equally between patty cake and trying to beat the number of jumping rope jumps Daryl can make in one go.

And she particularly loves the new game dynamic at night, which is why Rick and Daryl stop cruising at about seven thirty, drop to the house, and help set up Life. They are too obnoxious at Monopoly, Merle tells them. It’s absolutely no fun if two parties keep practically gifting each other full sets of property. And Lori hasn’t gotten around to buying a new Sorry game after Maggie’s rage attack on the board, so Life it is. Judith insists on everyone playing fair, just as she insists when she lands on a marriage card to put another girl into her car. Rick doesn’t know if it’s because she’s actually intrigued by the idea or if she’s wanting to be like Rick and Daryl in some kind of sense, but he guess she’s eight. She’ll figure it out along the way.

They have just settled in, just really started bickering about all the setbacks they’re getting, when a knock comes on the door. They all frown and Lori, in the kitchen, doesn’t move to answer it. Which means it must be a knock only they can hear. Merle takes the hit for everyone, gets up and goes to the door, peeps through it, and then turns back to them with a heavy frown. “Uh,” he says and tilts his head, scratches at the back of it, “God’s at the door.”

Rick and Daryl both blink in surprise. “ _God_ ,” Daryl clarifies, “God?”

“God,” Merle grunts and turns back to the wood, stares at it as if it’ll catch fire.

“She doesn’t come to Earth,” Daryl tells everyone firmly, but that doesn’t seem to stop the fact that Merle is still confirming through the peephole that it is indeed Michonne. He frowns and turns to Rick, but Rick shrugs and rises.

“Let her in, I guess,” he tells Merle, because he’s not rude enough to turn God away.

Merle opens the door and swings it wide, steps back out of her way, and Michonne floats through into the living room, her aura and presence blinding with the taste of goodness. Judith, still sitting on the living room floor at Rick’s feet with her car in her hands, narrows her eyes.

“Good evening,” Michonne says smoothly.

“Good evening,” Merle answers back and then slides his eyes to Daryl as if he had expected him to chime in.

“To what do we owe the visit?” Daryl asks, standing up beside Rick and placing his body half between her and his family.

“I have come to talk to Ms. Judith,” Michonne says. “In private, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” Daryl tells her and then glances around to Maggie and Merle, gives a quick nod of his head, “but they can go if they want.”

“Think I should,” Maggie says as she stands, slaps at her knees as if they have dust. “Don’t want to get involved in...the thing.”

“Do I--” Merle starts, swinging his head between them and Michonne, but Maggie grabs his arm and pulls, drags him with her to the garage until it is just Judith and her dads standing guard over her.

“We can get along just fine,” Michonne tells them. “You don’t have to be protective.”

“We want to,” Rick tells her and holds out his hand, helps Judith to stand.

“It would be best,” Michonne says with a smile, “if you--”

“They stay,” Judith tells her, voice strong and firm, “or I don’t talk to you.”

Michonne widens her eyes at the brashness of children, but softens her expression quickly. “Of course,” she says, “you know who I am?”

“You’re God,” Judith tells her. “I’m not stupid.”

“Do you know what I’ve come to do?” Michonne asks, but Judith never answers because a bang echoes through the house from the hallway further inside and all heads turn to find Carol strolling powerfully into the room, stopping only to lean casually on the wall, a grin on her face, her hands in her pockets.

“ _Please do_ ,” Carol says, “tell us what you are here for. I am _sure_ it is not you breaking a deal with me.”

Michonne tilts her head and shakes it slightly. “She doesn’t need to be eighteen to know to make a choice.”

“Oh, sure,” Carol says and pushes herself from the wall. “That’s why _I’m_ here.”

“Where did you come from?” Michonne asks, her voice silver arrows.

“The back door,” Carol says with a smirk and turns to Judith as she walks even with the group. “More than one way to skin a cat, eh, kid?”

Judith frowns at her and reaches up, threads her hand in Rick’s. Rick squeezes all of his strength into her and then pulls her over, sits down on the couch and brings her with him. His tail curls up around her shoulders protectively and Daryl sits on her other side, flanking her, prepared.

“It’s time, Judith,” Michonne tells her. “You know in your heart which way you wish to be. All you need to do is tell us.”

“And think,” Carol jumps in, “of all the fun you’ve had with your teachers. Think of what the lava rivers look like fueled by their own light. She comes with rules. I don’t. And do you like rules?”

“Stop trying,” Michonne clips, “to convince her. There is nothing to say anymore. Nothing to do. Her choice is natural. She just has to make it. So Judith,” Michonne turns to her, eyes deep and dark, smile pulled in and radiating at the corners, “make it.”

Judith frowns and darts her gaze between them and Rick won’t stand for this. If he is anything, he is the bump in the road between them and her, the curtain set to separate her from their ire. Carol keeps talking again, whispers to her that she knows that Judith wants to fly by the stars, loves the way Rick’s leather wings feel. Michonne cuts in again, says that Judith must merely decide and their voices get louder, dart in and out of one another and there is no silence, no space between sentences, no room to breathe. Only noise, so much noise, so much sound in the den of their wake, but through it all, Rick tells her simply, “Judy. Look at me.”

And she does. Snaps her gaze away, tunes them out like they are gnats and she is the sun, burning through the skin of their beings. Rick bends to her, puts his hands on either side of her cheeks and tells her, “You say what you want to say. You do what you want to do. What is in your _heart_. Because the only thing you can do wrong here, the only thing you will regret, is if you don’t do what _you_ want to do. Don’t carry it with you. So tell them. Tell them what you want them to know.”

Judith stares at him for the longest time and Rick locks his gaze with hers, sees her shrewd and keen eyes as they darken into living, breathing pits themselves. She is so sharp, so cutting, and Rick has every faith in her that even at eight, even having lived only a fraction of a life, Judith is far smarter than any of them. And she proves it to him.

She turns, stares them both down and says with all the power of her lungs, with the fiber of her being vibrating away from any frequency that Rick has ever learned, “No.”

Carol tilts her head back and to the side, away from Judith, and Michonne, for her part, simply blinks. “No?” Michonne asks.

“No,” Judith says and sets her jaw hard. “No. YOU,” she points to Michonne, “are a stupid, mean, _irritating_ person. And you’ve made my dads cry. And I am _not_ going to follow you.”

Michonne narrows her eyes and opens her mouth, but Carol cuts in, cackling. “Guess I won,” she says, a second too early, because before either of them get a sentence out, Judith is speaking over them. And even if she is eight, even if she is human, they _listen_.

“You’re stupid, too,” Judith tells Carol. “And you’ve made my dads cry, _too_. And so I’m not following you, either.”

Carol scoffs. “Little girl, you have to decide.”

“I don’t,” Judith tells them and stands. “I don’t have to do anything you say. And I never will. Because I don’t believe in either of you. I don’t believe in anything you have and I’m different. That’s why you both like me, because I’m different. _You know_ , like _I_ know, that I am a dot outside of your axises. I’m not _x_ like you think I am, I’m _y_ and that means you can’t tell me what to do like you couldn’t tell my dads what to do. They’re outside of you. They didn’t do what you allowed them to because you can’t control them. And _I am_ outside of you. And I’m different enough to know what I am. And what I am is not you,” she points to Michonne, “and not you,” she points to Carol. “I’m _me_ and you can’t make me choose. Because you are one and negative one and I’m zero. And you can’t change who I am anymore than zero is one.”

They both try to speak, but Judith shuts them out, turns her back on them and says to Rick, “Daddy? Can we keep playing now?” Rick blinks at her and starts to say her name, but she shakes her head. “They go away,” she tells him, “if you don't feed them. They just go away.”

So Rick follows her, moves down onto the carpet next to her small frame and she picks up the game again, continues it with just the three of them. Daryl slides down, too, and joins, reaches over behind Judith’s back and threads his fingers with Rick’s. And soon enough, Judith is right. They go away. Carol yells, but Rick doesn’t listen. Michonne demands in her cloyingly light voice, but Daryl doesn’t acknowledge. And they go. Just like that. They leave. Because they know there is nothing here for them. No crack in Rick’s armor to slip through, to widen him out until he shatters. And no forced loyalty in Daryl’s veins, either, no dyingly strong will to please. There is nothing but them, but the three of them, one and negative one and the zero between them with her car filled with two pink pegs.

They finish the game, end it a long time after the front and back doors have shut. And when they are done, Rick takes Judith to bed, pours her in and lulls her to sleep. As her eyes close, he turns to Daryl slowly in the low light and catches his gaze, diamond sharp and oceans deep.

“Do you think she’s right?” Rick whispers to him. “Do you think that we are all outside of their influence?”

Daryl shrugs and stares down at her, tilts his head and studies the outline of her body. “I’ve never seen God surprised before,” Daryl tells him. “But she was tonight. Couldn’t you feel it? And Merle...Merle can’t help but follow. And that’s what it’s been like for all of my life. Autopilot. I do everything she says, everything she wills. And nothing that she doesn’t. But tonight... _tonight_ ,” he whispers, “I could do anything. I defy her.”

“Me, too,” Rick agrees in that same soft, sacred whisper, the darkness around them made holy purely by the presence of three bodies rotating around one another. “I’ve been feeling it for awhile now. Like...like we’re outside of them.”

“Like they can’t even touch us,” Daryl agrees. “And they can’t. How could they? We broke the rules. And maybe when we did, we broke _them_.”

Rick nods and turns his head to Judith again, her body still in sleep. He thinks of her eyes, her shrewd eyes that seem to get darker by the day. He thinks of Michonne’s, the pits she carries, and Carol with her smile, the screaming lines etched into her skin. Daryl moves forward to stand over Judith with him and together, they pause there. One guardian for the power in her spirit. Rick thinks back to that first day, back so very long ago to when he left Hell to find her. And he realizes, for all Carol and Michonne’s faults, that they were right about one thing. One tiny thing. She is the key to everything. Just not the everything that they had thought she would be.

Rick takes Daryl’s hand beside his and squeezes, tangles their fingers together like hope and love and Daryl squeezes back, brings his mouth down to kiss Rick’s shoulder and then there they are. In their forever. Creating a space in the room humming with power, fueled only by the mutual fire in all of their veins. Rick breathes it in, takes it into his lungs, his tail ticking the time, and feels it. Feels Judy sleeping not a foot away. Feels Daryl with his strong, powerful wings and the curve of his body slid up next to Rick’s.

And the whole void of the Earth is wide to them, the whole spinning of the sky. And Rick, with his family surrounding him, complete and safe here in a capsule of true burning belief, is finally free.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST SONG (and the final song for the whole story!) 
> 
> [Sacrilege by Yeah Yeah Yeahs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmRI3Ew4BvA)


	40. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the smut you guys have been waiting for! Hope that it's kinky enough for your enjoyment!

For once, Rick beats Daryl to the cloud cover, his wings little zippy balls of energy. Daryl grumbles behind him good-naturedly and rushes to catch up and soon they both break through the wisps of the sky until the ground below them is blurred in fog. “Rick,” Daryl says with a huff and a smile, “you just fucked me not an hour ago. Seriously? Again?”

Rick cackles and spins, curling his wings around himself as he goes. Below him, a tunnel of red cloud forms and spreads out into an area large enough for their bodies. When he’s done, he drops, falls down against it in glee, his wings spreading out to catch his body against the cloud. “Come on, baby,” he says with a little flip of his tail, curling the spade and beckoning Daryl down. “Don’t you want me?”

Daryl snorts and dives, falls against Rick’s body with a grunt. “You know I do.” He reaches up and runs his fingers through Rick’s curls, catching his thumb around a horn. “I fucking love fucking you in the sky.”

Rick laughs and leans up on his elbows, puts his mouth right up against Daryl’s and lets their noses slide together. “I’ve got something special in mind.”

“ _Special?_ ” Daryl asks, his eyes wide and his pupils opening up into dark passion.

“Yeah,” Rick says with a smile that moves against Daryl. “Something we’ve _never_ done before.”

Daryl scoffs. “Rick, we’ve run the gamut through all the kink books. What in all Heaven and Hell _haven’t_ we done?”

“What we’re about to do,” Rick answers cryptically and slides his tail up to run across Daryl’s arm, curl around his bicep and squeeze. “Gotta get me naked though.” His voice drops into a whine. “I am so horny for your cock…”

Daryl laughs. “You _slut_ ,” he tells him, but then leans forward and captures his mouth, kisses him passionately as he lets loose of his magic, grows the cloud until it covers both of them, wrapped up like a cave in the middle of the sky.

Daryl starts working on their clothing, popping buttons and untying ties as he goes. Rick is pliant for him, shivering at the feel of the fabric leaving his legs, his chest, his groin. Daryl’s comes free just as easily, their bodies moving to remove the barriers like a river drilling rock into sediment. They are one, the two of them, in the way they move. Sinful and holy, as light as the air and as dark as the stirring of their own hearts.

When Rick is naked, he hooks a leg around Daryl and draws him close, lets their bodies slide together and snap into place. Daryl moans into Rick’s mouth, his tongue touching all the corners of Rick’s soul. His fingers are still in Rick’s hair and Rick’s have moved to Daryl’s hips, digging in and working his way across the skin as if he can crawl inside of it. Rick’s tail rolls up and down Daryl’s spine, feather light like a ghost print, and Daryl’s wings rustle their feathers as he shivers with it.

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you,” Daryl whispers against him, his body already hard and willing to breach Rick. Rick smiles at his lips and dives in for another, tongue and teeth spelling out his passion. He lifts his hand and grabs Daryl’s, lets his fingers play with Daryl’s thumb and index finger until Daryl grins into the kiss in understanding. He snaps his fingers loudly and the bottle drops into Rick’s hand, already open and ready for what Rick so desperately wants right now.

Rick wastes no time in dipping his spade in lube, swishing it down to his own entrance and working it slowly inside himself while Daryl fucks his mouth open with his tongue and presses Rick’s body down into the cloud. Rick moans Daryl’s name and it’s not a word, not even the formation of it against his lips, but Daryl still understands and Rick feels it, _knows it_ , when Daryl moans his own back.

Rick works his tail inside, just the tip at first and then further, the full spade pushing it and filling him deliciously. But not as good as Daryl will, not as good as what Rick has in mind. While Daryl keeps kissing him, Rick takes the bottle again and slicks up his fingers, reaches down to add his hand to the mix. His spade goes flat, as large as it can go and stretches and his fingers add to pull himself apart.

“Tell me,” Rick begs to the angel above him, surrounded by a cloud made from both of them, “what you want to do to me.”

“I want to fuck you,” Daryl growls and bites down on Rick’s lip, pulls it for a moment before releasing it with a pop. “I want to take you like you’re mine to take and come in you so hard and so fast that you’ll always remember who you belong to.”

“And what about you?” Rick asks with a gasping whisper. “Who do you belong to?”

Daryl laughs. “You proved that to me earlier when you _fucked me against the kitchen counter_.”

Rick chuckles. “ _Well_ , I had to take advantage of an empty house. When else do you think we’re going to get to do that?”

“Shut up,” Daryl tells him with a shake of his head and a bubble of laughter. “I’m telling you what I want to do to you _now_.”

“Then do it,” Rick tells him, laying his head back on the cloud and arching his eyebrow in a challenge.

Daryl rolls his eyes, but leans forward to kiss him once more, full of the desire coursing between their nerve-endings, before looking down and arranging himself fully over Rick. He grabs his own cock and strokes it once, already straining, before moving it to Rick’s entrance. He waits, obviously, for Rick to pull his tail out, but he doesn’t. Daryl frowns. “Well, get your spade out,” he tells Rick as if Rick wasn’t aware of the barrier.

“No,” Rick whispers in a breathy moan and reaches up to hold Daryl’s neck with both hands. “Put it in.”

Daryl blinks. “But your--”

“ _Both_ of them,” Rick says, his eyes twinkling. “Or don’t you want my tail to jerk you off while you’re inside of me?”

Daryl blinks and then blinks again, opens his mouth in a squeak, but Rick takes advantage of it, leaning forward and capturing his mouth like he is conquering new lands. Rick pulls his spade out and flattens it so that he can wrap it around the head of Daryl’s cock. And then, with Daryl’s guiding hips and Rick’s guiding tail, he slides inside.

Rick hisses at the feel of it, both Daryl and the spade stretching him out. Daryl lets go of a broken, gasping noise deep in his throat and Rick grins up at him. “Good?” he asks.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Daryl hisses and nods, swallows hard. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Rick chuckles dangerously. “You bet your holy ass I am.” And then he drags Daryl in further, lets him coast up inside until the head of Daryl’s cock and the tail are deep within him. And then, once Daryl is balls deep and achingly big, Rick moves his spade so very slowly, twirls it around Daryl’s cock until his tail is wrapped around him like a vine. Rick squeezes and Daryl cries out, throws his hands down on either side of Rick’s head and scrapes at the cloud below them.

“ _Fucking shit!_ ” Daryl cries out and Rick grins at his success.

“You like it?” Rick asks, nipping at his jaw, his cheek, his neck.

But Daryl likes it so damn much he can’t even speak. Rick watches him nod his head aggressively and that’s all he needs to know how pleased Daryl is at the experience. “Then fuck me,” Rick tells him and Daryl blinks his nearly crossed eyes. “Go on,” Rick encourages and leans up, licks his way inside Daryl’s mouth and loses himself for a moment in passion before saying, “make me yours.”

Daryl grunts in agreement and then starts, slowly at first and shallowly as he gets used to the feel of both Rick’s body around him and the tail as it puts friction there. Rick works his spade inside like he’s an expert at doing when it is just him, but he makes sure to squeeze and press as it goes in, to loosen and guide out as Daryl pulls back. And they fall into a rhythm, heavy and hot and panting and once it’s there, the glorious snap and retreat of Daryl’s hips and Rick’s tail, Daryl reaches down between them and wraps himself around Rick, begins to stroke him off to the beat of their bodies.

Rick fists his hand in Daryl’s hair and pulls him down flush against him, their bodies pressing Daryl’s hand between their skin as he strokes. “How hard are you going to come in me?” Rick asks and Daryl goes cross-eyed again.

“Pretty _fucking_ hard,” he answers, near breathlessly.

“Good,” Rick whines, “because I want it. I want your come in me--deep as you can get it.” Rick moans at just the thought of it and twitches in Daryl’s hand. “And...and I want it on me. All _over_ my tail. Covering it. _Coating it_.” Rick bites his lip in a gasp and rubs his spade over the head so deep inside and Daryl bucks forward, fucks him up into the cloud so hard that Rick screams despite himself.

“ _YES!_ ” Rick cries to the sun and the sky. “ _Fuck me_.”

And Daryl _does_ , lets loose and has at him, slams into him hard and without mercy. Rick clings--his hips arching into Daryl’s hand, his tail following the pounding of Daryl’s cock as it goes in, out, in, out. Daryl begins to tense, his hips erratic in their rhythm, and as he does, Rick bends, his back arching out beautifully away from the cloud, his cock begging for more and more of Daryl’s hand.

“Yes,” Daryl grunts. “Yes. _Yes_. Come with me. _Come with me, Rick_ ,” he growls and then digs his teeth into Rick’s shoulder, slams home, and Rick _feels_ it, feels the splash against his tail, the thickness of it deep within and he screams out Daryl’s name as he own release starts, pouring out between them.

It takes a long time before either of them come down from the high and an even longer time before Daryl pulls out with a little wince from Rick and Rick unfurls his tail from around him. “Fucking _shit_ ,” Daryl whispers to his body and begins to mouth across his skin leisurely. “You didn’t have to do that for me,” he tells Rick. “You’ll be sore for a month.”

Rick chuckles, but nods his agreement. “Worth it, though.”

Daryl grunts and kisses his neck. “I could heal it. Make it easier--”

“ _Fuck no_ ,” Rick says with a growl followed by a chuckle. “Are you insane? I _love_ it. I want to feel you everywhere I go. I want to know how much I’m yours.”

“Don’t you already?” Daryl says with a grin, staring down at him.

Rick smiles as he looks up, catalogues the beauty of Daryl’s face and the hematite of his spinning halo. “Oh, I know. Still like to feel it, though,” he tells Daryl with a small kiss. He thinks about how far they’ve come from the first day they met--their squabbling and bickering turning into something else quite indeed. His gold tail flashes in the sun as he twitches it, still stained with part of Daryl and Daryl smiles as he watches it go back and forth against the cloud and the light.

“I love you,” Daryl whispers down to him, running his hands over every inch of Rick’s body. “I love you _so_.”

And what else can Rick say? What else can he do, but smile back and say just as softly and smoothly as the earth and Heaven and Hell were formed, “And I you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, guys. But I did want to say thanks so, so, so much to all my readers! Thank you for sticking with this story even though it's an out there AU, thanks for reading, thanks for commenting, kudoing, bookmarking, and everything else you guys have done! Thanks to Skari and Max Kennedy for the fanart, thanks to all the people who suggested songs, thanks to my betas Skari and MermaidSheenaz, and thanks SilverRainDemon for creating a Russian translation and gwisoon for creating an 8-tracks album (want to see it? Look below!). 
> 
> You guys are so terribly awesome and I can't thank you enough for supporting the story! At this point, I don't have any plans for a sequel or anything else to add to it, so I hope you guys liked the ending of the last chapter and the smut of this one. And I hope you think the story has come to a satisfying end!

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Links:
> 
> [MAE's Rickyl Fics and Recs](http://maerickyl.tumblr.com/): Where you can find a list of my fanfic, fanfic recs, and snippets of works in progress.  
> [Michelle A. Emerlind](http://michelleaemerlind.tumblr.com/): My general tumblr where I put stuff? And things? And just whatever I want.  
> [Rickyl Writer's Group](http://rickylwritersgroup.tumblr.com/): The home of the Rickyl Writer's Group! Come join! We love new people!  
> [8-Tracks A Spade of Truth Album](http://8tracks.com/mitsukeru/a-spade-of-truth) by gwisoon (including fic quotes!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "A Spade of Truth"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5095490) by [SkariCovers (skarlatha)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/SkariCovers)
  * [A Spade of Truth - Edit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383930) by [PixieReedus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixieReedus/pseuds/PixieReedus), [Rickyl_edits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rickyl_edits/pseuds/Rickyl_edits), [YeyaGrimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YeyaGrimes/pseuds/YeyaGrimes)




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